"I cannot breakfast with you, but I will call at your hotel to-morrow morning at 10.30."
"That is wiser," said Deering, with quiet superiority.
Glynn was greatly struck by the significance of these words. What hold had Deering over the wandering adventurer, who seemed as far removed from the haughty English gentleman as the east is from the west?
He walked home revolving this question and others. Every day increased the fascination which Lambert's daughter unconsciously exercised over him; every day showed more and more clearly the unsuitability, nay, from a common-sense point of view, the impossibility of allying himself with so doubtful a character as poor Lambert.
On reaching his hotel, the concierge handed him several letters, and when safe within his own room he opened them. One proved to be from his firm on business which compelled his immediate return to London.
He had seldom been so annoyed and irritated as by this unavoidable necessity to quit the scene of the mysterious drama which interested him so intensely. He might be prudent enough, mean enough, to shrink from linking himself for life with a creature who was probably too good for him, but he would not desert Lambert in a difficulty. He would return as soon as possible and see him clear of Deering. Seizing his pen he wrote a hasty line to the effect that he was obliged to run over to London for a week, but would return without fail, adding his private address. When this had been sealed, stamped, and directed to Lambert, he rang and ordered his bill and a very early cup of coffee next morning.
"The first train for Calais leaves at seven in the morning," said the waiter. "There is an earlier one about five, I think, by the Dieppe route, but you gain no time, for the trajet is longer."
"Of course I will go by Calais," returned Glynn. "Do not fail to call me in good time."