He was affable from the first, and apparently entirely unsuspicious, for he sent his wife downstairs for a jug of ale, and I was compelled to take a glass with him in order to cement our acquaintanceship, after which he and his wife discreetly withdrew with, I hope, the opinion that we were “a very nice, quiet couple.”
At eight o’clock I took leave of Tibbie after we had had a supper of cold meat. She rather missed her dinner, but assured me that she would soon get used to dining in the middle of the day. Then, after seeing that she was quite comfortable, and that the locks on the doors acted, I shook hands with her.
“Good-bye, Willie dear,” she laughed. “Come home early, won’t you?”
“Of course,” I replied, echoing her laugh, and then as William Morton I went out to my work.
Walking through Trafalgar Road I found myself in the Old Kent Road, and presently hailing a hansom I drove as far as Piccadilly Circus, where I alighted and went on foot to my rooms.
As I entered Eric Domville came to the door of my sitting-room to meet me. He had been awaiting my return.
I saw from his face that something had occurred.
“Why, Eric—you?” I gasped. “What has happened?”
He placed his forefinger to his lips, indicative of silence, and glanced behind me along the hall to the room wherein Budd had disappeared. Then, when I had passed into my own cosy den, he closed the door carefully.
“Yes,” he said, in a low, strained voice, “something has happened, old fellow—something serious. I’ve discovered a fact that puts an entirely new complexion upon the affair. You are both in gravest peril. Listen, and I’ll explain.”