It was possible, I reflected, that Mercia might have gone home. I would have one more look round, and if this proved to be the case, I determined that I would follow her example. Somehow or other, I had a sort of presentiment that Billy was waiting for me in Park Lane, and the thought of the cheery grin with which he would receive my astounding confidence made me long to hurry up our meeting.
As for my—What was that? From within Sangatte's room had come a sudden faint cry, followed almost immediately by the muffled crash of an overturning chair. I leaped to my feet, listening intently, and then again—Good Lord! it was Mercia's voice! In one stride I had crossed the intervening space and gripped the handle of the door. It was locked, but I was in no mood for ceremony. Stepping back, I gave it the full benefit of my fourteen stone, and with a crash of splintering wood it flew open before me.
Sangatte was standing in the centre of the room, his face flushed and angry. Mercia, panting, indignant, and pale, leaned against the mantelpiece. When his lordship saw who it was that had so rudely disturbed his privacy, his expression changed momentarily to one of utter bewilderment. Then, with a furious scowl, he advanced towards me.
"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, in a hoarse whisper.
I took absolutely no notice of him.
"Miss de Rosen," I said, in my most cheerful manner, "I think this is the dance you were kind enough to promise me."
Mercia laughed softly. "I think it must be," she said.
I stepped forward, and for the fraction of a second Sangatte barred my path. Then his good angel must have whispered in his ear, for he moved suddenly aside, and, without so much as glancing at him, I advanced and offered my arm to Mercia.
"I am sorry I was a trifle late," I said calmly.
With a charming little smile, she put her hand upon my sleeve. "You are always the soul of promptness, Mr. Northcote," she said.