"That is the fact," answered Dacent Smith; "it is also the fact, however, that from the twenty-fourth of this month she has engaged rooms at a select boarding house in Freshwater. She is going to Freshwater," he added ironically, "to recuperate after an arduous London season!" He looked meaningly at John. John understood the significance of that look. The carrion were gathering. By the twenty-eighth all von Kuhne's active forces would be drawn to the Isle of Wight. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, in taking rooms at Freshwater, was acquiring a residence in close proximity to Heatherpoint Fort. John wondered what her particular manoeuvre was to be. He put that question to Dacent Smith.
"We shall know all in good time, Treves," answered his chief. "You yourself will be in the Isle of Wight by then."
A few minutes later John bade good night to Dacent Smith. Being free for that evening, he took the tube to Camden Town. Here, at Bowles Avenue, in the quiet little street, he knocked once again at the door of Elaine's residence. He had not visited Elaine for nearly a week, and he knew that for some days to come he would be deeply occupied with Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, so he wished to make the most of the present opportunity. Twice during the past week Elaine had written him short notes asking him when he could come to visit her. There had been nothing in the notes to convey the idea that she wished him urgently to come. He was surprised, therefore, when Elaine, in answer to his knock, drew open the door and recognised him with an expression of infinite relief in her grey eyes. She was dressed prettily, quietly and inexpensively as usual. John, comparing her appearance with the brilliant beauty of Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, realised that Elaine's attraction lay just as much in her fine and upright character, in her intense feminine gentleness and loyalty, as in her beauty itself.
She took John's hand in hers, drew him into the little passage, and quickly shut the door.
"Bernard," she whispered, resting her hand on his shoulder, and looking up into his face, "I am so very glad you have come!"
She drew his face down to hers and kissed him as she had never kissed him before. There was something that was almost passionately fervent in her embrace.
"I have been so afraid for you, Bernard," she murmured.
John released himself. He felt the extreme awkwardness of the situation.
"What made you afraid, Elaine?" He thought at first that an over-vivid imagination had been running away with her, that some feminine mood had made her fear for him. Then he remembered her beliefs as to his character. The man she believed him to be was a weakling with will undermined by drugs, a nervous, overstrung neurasthenic; capable of drifting into all sorts of trouble and embarrassments.
Elaine led him into the little parlour, lit the gas and drew down the blind. John noticed again that something troubled her mind. She appeared to look at him strangely and thoughtfully. And, for an instant, for a fleeting space of time, he feared that she had penetrated the secret of his identity. If this was the case, all his castles in the air would in a minute come toppling about his ears.