“And there was no sign of discomfort—no flicker of the eyelids, for instance?”
“No; nothing.”
Mr. Bodery nodded his head in a businesslike way, indicative of the fact that he was engaged in assimilating a good deal of useful information.
“There is nothing to be done to-night,” he said presently, as he made a movement towards the door, “but to go to bed. To-morrow the Beacon will be published, and the result will probably be rather startling. We shall hear something before to-morrow afternoon.”
Sidney lighted Mr. Bodery's candle and shook hands.
“By the way,” said the editor, turning back and speaking more lightly, “if any one should inquire—your mother or one of your sisters—you can say that I am not in the least anxious about Vellacott. Good night.”
CHAPTER XVII. A RETREAT
It was quite early the next morning when the Vicomte d'Audierne left his room. As he walked along the still corridor and down the stairs it was noticeable that he made absolutely no sound, without, however, indulging in any of those contortions which are peculiar to late arrivals in church. It would seem that Nature had for purposes of her own made his footfall noiseless—if, by the way, Nature can be credited with any purpose whatever in her allotment of human gifts and failings.