"Well, I wandered about until I was tired. The town didn't much appeal to me, and then suddenly I remembered an address a naval friend had given me—of a sort of dancing-place—rather like the 'Bal Tabarin,' you know."
"Bertram doesn't know," said Lady Leason gravely.
"Yes, I do, my dear," said the Bishop unexpectedly. "Warleigh's youngest son mentioned it one day. He told me it was a Dancing Academy."
"Well ... something like it"—McTaggart chuckled. "Anyway, I went there. But it wasn't up to much. Just a bare hall, with a crowd of men and women and the usual 'Tarantella,' which I'd grown heartily sick of! But there was one girl who danced beautifully—pretty as paint—very dark, you know. I never saw such eyes in my life..."
"Oh, Peter!" Lady Leason laughed—"was this how you set about curing your broken heart?"
"Perhaps." His smile was enigmatic. "We danced together several times—the room was as hot as an oven and the wine the worst I ever have tasted. So when she suggested we should go outside and hunt up a cousin of hers who kept a bar—somewhere quite near—with decent drinks, like a fool, I forgot Viviani's warnings, she fetched a wrap and we started out.
"Well—it seemed a bit further than she thought. We passed through a lot of narrow streets, up some steps and into an alley and came at last to a sort of tavern, where some sailors were drinking and playing cards.
"We crossed the room and went up some stairs, and I was beginning to feel doubtful when she opened a door into a dingy room, almost dark, with a flickering wick burning in a saucer of oil. 'I'll fetch the wine,' said my little friend—'and a lamp—sit down.' She disappeared—I heard the door close, then the click of a key being turned in the lock from outside.
"I sprang toward it, caught the handle, and the next thing I knew the light was extinguished and a man's voice said in English:
"'Hands up!'" ... He glanced at his audience.