[CHAPTER XIII
THE GAMING-HOUSE]
Westerham turned the note about and about in his fingers in the futile attempt to extract some further information from it.
He realised, of course, that the note boded a new move.
Had the crisis really crept so close? Or was the danger in which Lady Kathleen stood merely fictitious?
Possibly it was a trap; but that he had to risk. One thing was certain—he could not ignore the message.
On second thoughts, indeed, he was inclined to regard the summons as a real and urgent one. The murder at the hotel had shown him that Melun was not the man to stick at trifles.
Moreover, he recollected that Madame's concern at his becoming entangled in Melun's toils had without question been genuine. Madame, he almost persuaded himself, had been his friend from the beginning. He trusted that she might be now.
Without any further delay, therefore, he walked out into the quiet little street and turned in the direction of Berkeley Square, where he knew he would be sure to find a cab.