"There's one thing I want to ask of you," I said quietly.
"Out with it, it's promised," he laughed.
"I want you to meet me for a quarter of an hour's talk to-night."
"Of course, if you wish," he said, somewhat puzzled. "Where?"
"Anywhere, in the park there."
"What time, Hildred?"
"Midnight."
"What in the name of—" he began, but checked himself and laughingly assented. I watched him go down the stairs and hurry away, his sabre banging at every stride. He turned into Bleecker Street, and I knew he was going to see Constance. I gave him ten minutes to disappear and then followed in his footsteps, taking with me the jewelled crown and the silken robe embroidered with the Yellow Sign. When I turned into Bleecker Street, and entered the doorway which bore the sign—
MR. WILDE,
REPAIRER OF REPUTATIONS.
Third Bell.
I saw old Hawberk moving about in his shop, and imagined I heard Constance's voice in the parlour; but I avoided them both and hurried up the trembling stairways to Mr. Wilde's apartment. I knocked and entered without ceremony. Mr. Wilde lay groaning on the floor, his face covered with blood, his clothes torn to shreds. Drops of blood were scattered about over the carpet, which had also been ripped and frayed in the evidently recent struggle.