“Madam,” said Westerham, almost gently, “I'm sorry if I startled you. Those who run great risks always imagine that the greatest object of every other person is to accomplish their downfall. I assure you that no such motive prompted me in making the bargain I have made with Melun.”
“Then,” said the woman, “you can have no aim unless it be mere idle curiosity?”
Westerham said nothing for the moment, but five minutes later, as though he were resuming a conversation which had been abruptly broken off, he said, “I am not so sure.”
The carriage had now passed out of the Finchley Road into a quiet cul-de-sac, and had drawn up before a high wooden door let into a garden wall.
Westerham assisted Mme. Estelle to alight. She asked him to ring the bell, which he did, and a second later the garden door opened by some unseen agency.
When she had stepped into the garden, Mme. Estelle beckoned to Westerham to follow her, and he stepped into the garden and stood beside her.
She closed the door to, glanced over her shoulder to see that she was not observed, and then caught Westerham by the coat.
“Sir Paul,” she cried in a low voice, “you are a young man. Do not destroy your life for a piece of folly. Cut yourself adrift from this while there is still time.”
Westerham took her hand and looked at her kindly. “Thank you,” he said; “thank you very much. But I am not only moved by folly to go on with this business. Some day I may explain to you. I do not know that I particularly care for going on, but there is no drawing back now.”