He sat in his
chair by the door, a silent witness of the scene. Then suddenly,
at the height of the hubbub, he heard the faint humming of a
motor-car. It lasted for perhaps thirty seconds, then gradually
died away.
"What did it mean?" he asked himself. The only living being he
knew of outside was John Hill, the odd man, whose face he had
just seen; the only car was Mortimer's. Had the odd man gone off
in Mortimer's car? He was thankful to note that, in the din, none
save him seemed to have heard the car.
By this time Mortimer had put up his pistol and Mrs. Malplaquet
was speaking. Her remarks were effective and very much to the
point. She upbraided Mortimer with his long and mysterious
absences which she attributed to his infatuation for Nur-el-Din
and complained bitterly of the dancer's imprudence in consorting
openly with notorious folk like Lazarro and Bryan Mowbury.
"I went to the girl myself," she said, "and begged her to be more
circumspect. But Madame would not listen to advice; Madame was
doubtless sure of her position with our revered leader, and
thought she could reject the friendly counsel of one old enough
to be her mother. Behrend and Max and No. 13 there--all of
us--are absolutely agreed that we are not going on with this sort
of thing any longer.
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