Kelly’s ill-temper had gone like an early morning fog.  He led the way to a table reserved in a corner, and they sat down.

“I was half afraid ye wouldn’t have anything but a kick for Donovan this morning,” he said, with a somewhat rueful smile.

Burke’s own brief smile showed for a moment.  “I shouldn’t start on you anyway,” he said.  “You found young Guy?”

Kelly made an expressive gesture.  “Oh yes, I found him, him and his master too.  At Hoffstein’s of course.  Kieff was holding one of his opium shows, the damn’ dirty skunk.  I couldn’t get the boy away, but I satisfied myself that he was innocent of this.  He never engaged a room here or had any intention of coming here.  What Kieff’s intentions were I didn’t enquire.  But he had got the devil’s own grip on Guy last night, He could have made him do—­anything.”  Kelly ended with a few strong expressions which left no doubt as to the opinion he entertained of Kieff and all his works.

Burke ate his breakfast in an absorbed silence.  Finally he looked up to enquire, “Have you any idea what has become of Guy this morning?”

Kelly shook his head.  “Not the shadow of a notion.  I shall look for him presently on the racecourse.  He seems to have found some money to play with, for he told me he had taken two tickets for the diamond draw, one for himself and one for another.  But he was just mad last night.  The very devil had got into him.  What will I do with him if I get him?”

Burke’s eyes met his for a moment.  “You can do—­anything you like with him,” he said.

“Ah, but he saved your life, Burke,” said the Irishman pleadingly.  “It’s only three days ago.”

“I know what he did,” said Burke briefly, both before and after that episode.  “He may think himself lucky that I have no further use for him.”

“But aren’t you satisfied, Burke?” Kelly leaned forward impulsively.  “I’ve told you the truth.  Aren’t you satisfied?”

Burke’s face was grim as if hewn out of rock.  “Not yet,” he said.  “You’ve told me the truth—­what you know of it.  But there’s more to it.  I’ve got to know—­everything before I’m satisfied.”

“Ah, but sure!” protested Kelly.  “Women are very queer, you know.  Ye can’t tell what moves a woman.  Often as not, it’s something quite different from what you’d think.”

Burke was silent, continuing his breakfast.

Kelly looked at him with eyes of pathetic persuasion.  “I’ve been lambastin’ meself all night,” he burst forth suddenly, “for ever bringing ye out on such a chase.  It was foul work.  I see it now.  She’d have come back to ye, Burke lad.  She didn’t mean any harm.  Sure, she’s as pure as the stars.”

Burke’s grey eyes, keen as the morning light, looked suddenly straight at him.  Almost under his breath, Burke spoke.  “Don’t tell me—­that!” he said.  “Just keep Guy out of my way!  That’s all.”