“What friend?  What motor?” reflected Mrs. Maldon sadly.  “He is incorrigible with his secretiveness.”

“Mrs. Maldon,” said Rachel anxiously, “you look pale.  Is it being in this draught?” She shut the door.

Mrs. Maldon sighed and moved away.  She hesitated at the parlour door and then said—­

“I must go upstairs a moment.”

CHAPTER IV

IN THE NIGHT

I

Louis stood hesitant and slightly impatient in the parlour, alone.  A dark blue cloth now covered the table, and in the centre of it was a large copper jar containing an evergreen plant.  Of the feast no material trace remained except a few crumbs on the floor.  But the room was still pervaded by the emotional effluence of the perturbed souls who had just gone; and Louis felt it, though without understanding.

Throughout the evening he had of course been preoccupied by the consciousness of having in his pocket bank-notes to a value unknown.  Several times he had sought for a suitable opportunity to disclose his exciting secret.  But he had found none.  In practice he could not say to his aunt, before Julian and Rachel:  “Auntie, I picked up a lot of bank-notes on the landing.  You really ought to be more careful!” He could not even in any way refer to them.  The dignity of Mrs. Maldon had intimidated him.  He had decided, after Julian’s announcement of departure, that he would hand them over to her, simply and undramatically and with no triumphant air, as soon as he and she should for a moment be alone together.  Then Mrs. Maldon vanished upstairs.  And she had not returned.  Rachel also had vanished.  And he was waiting.

He desired to examine the notes, to let his eyes luxuriously rest upon them, but he dared not take them from his pocket lest one or other of the silent-footed women might surprise him by a sudden entrance.  He fingered them as they lay in their covert, and the mere feel of them, raised exquisite images in his mind; and at the same time the whole room and every object in the room was transformed into a secret witness which spied upon him, disquieted him, and warned him.  But the fact that the notes were intact, that nothing irremediable had occurred, reassured him and gave him strength, so that he could defy the suspicions of those senseless surrounding objects.

Within the room there was no sound but the faint regular hiss of the gas and an occasional falling together of coal in the weakening fire.  Overhead, from his aunt’s bedroom, vague movements were perceptible.  Then these ceased, absolutely.  The tension, increasing, grew too much for him, and with a curt gesture, and a self-conscious expression between a smile and a frown, he left the parlour and stood to listen in the lobby.  Not for several seconds did he notice the heavy ticking of the clock, close to his ear,