They were standing just beneath a street lamp, whose strong light, falling on his face, showed it haggard and strained. Burmester did not observe it.
"You don't catch me!" he cried jovially, flinging away his light. "Come on, Bishop—leave that maniac to his own devices. Here's a hansom, the very thing."
The jingling cab pulled up at his signal, and he sprang in. "Rhodes Hotel!"
"All right, Burmester, I'm walking a bit with Brooke," said Mayne.
"The deuce you are! Nice trick to play on me!" cried Lance, as he was bowled away.
"Why can't you go with him, and leave me to myself?" growled Brooke, lighting a pipe with a hand that shook.
"Because I want your society, though it seems the desire is not mutual."
There was no reply. They tramped eastwards in silence, past the Marble Arch, down Park Lane into Grosvenor Square, and on into Berkeley Square, where suddenly Brooke said:
"I wish you would go."
"You're not playing fair," quietly replied Mayne. "Conspirators ought to share confidences."