"And I quite meant what I said," Sybil added, firmly. "If you won't stay here, you will put me to the inconvenience of turning out and going to an hotel at twelve o'clock at night. I have no intention of being forced into the horrid feeling that I am keeping you from the shelter of your own roof."
Under the pleading of the two pairs of kindly eyes turned on him Beaumanoir wavered. The chance of sleep and rest was tempting. He stepped to the door, and found Prince in the great entrance-hall.
"That man who called himself a detective has gone?" he inquired. "You are sure there is no mistake about it? You showed him to the door yourself, and saw him out?"
"And secured the door immediately afterwards, your Grace. Mr. Forsyth will bear me out in that; I had to withdraw the bolts to admit him."
Beaumanoir returned to the drawing-room.
"You are both very good, and I will stay for to-night only," he assented. "I wish I could make the explanation I owe you, but—well, I am the victim of circumstances."
"The explanation will keep," said Forsyth, bluntly. "May I stay too?"
The permission was, of course, accorded, and Sybil bade them good-night and retired to her room, giving orders on the way for two adjoining bedrooms to be prepared for them. The two men went into the smoking-room for a whisky and cigarette while the rooms were being got ready; but each with tacit consent avoided the topic of the moment. The one idea in Alec's mind was to let Beaumanoir have a good sleep, and persuade him into a serious discussion in the morning.
They parted at the door of their bedrooms on the first floor, where the late Duke's valet, who was still in the house, had done everything possible to cope with the sudden emergency. Pajamas had been routed out, and toilet requisites provided. The windows of both rooms looked out over the ceaseless traffic of Piccadilly, so that no danger could be apprehended from that quarter; yet Forsyth sat for a long time before turning in to bed. In his ignorance of what was the source of the Duke's danger, he had been loath to excite remark among the servants by fussing about the proper locking up of the mansion; but the stately tread of Prince going his rounds reassured him on that point, and eventually he slept.
In the meanwhile, Sybil, in her room at the other end of the same corridor, was finding a still greater difficulty in composing herself to rest. The events of the evening, in such startling contrast with the normal calm of the dignified establishment that had been her home, had unsettled—not to say alarmed—her, and she felt no inclination to the lace-edged pillow that usually wooed her to willing slumbers. She was a sound, healthy girl, untroubled by nerves; but she felt a singular need for alertness, unreasonable perhaps, but imperative.