But Toby’s idea of dignity was to sit on the corner of the table and swing one leg.  If any apprehension lingered in her mind, she concealed it most successfully.  She looked like an alert and mischievous boy.

There came a knock at the door, and for a moment her eyes sought Saltash.  He grinned back derisively, and pulled out his cigarette-case. “Entrez!” he called.

The door opened with a flourish.  A waiter entered with a card.

Saltash barely looked at him.  His eyes flashed beyond to the open doorway.  “You can come in,” he remarked affably.  “We’ve been expecting you for some time.”

Jake entered.  His square frame seemed to fill the space between the door-posts.  He was empty-handed, but there was purpose—­grim purpose—­in every line of him.

Saltash dismissed the waiter with a jerk of the eyebrows.  He was utterly unabashed, amazingly self-assured.  He met Jake’s stern eyes with cheery effrontery.

“Quite like old times!” he commented.  “The only difference being, my good Jake, that on this occasion I have reached the winning-post first.”

Jake’s look went beyond him to the slight figure by the table.  Toby was on her feet.  Her face was flushed, but her eyes were wide and defiant.  He regarded her steadily for several seconds before, very deliberately, he transferred his attention to Saltash, who nonchalantly awaited his turn, tapping the cigarette on the lid of his case with supreme indifference.

Jake spoke, his voice soft as a woman’s, yet strangely dominating.  “I should like two minutes alone with you—­if you can spare them.”

Saltash was smiling.  His glance shot towards Toby, and came back to Jake with a certain royal arrogance that held its own without effort.  “In other words, you wish—­Lady Saltash—­to leave us?” he questioned easily.

“I’m not going,” said Toby quickly, with nervous decision.

Her hands were tightly clasped in front of her.  She stood as one strung to the utmost limit of resistance.

Jake did not again look at her.  His eyes were upon Saltash, and they never wavered.  “Alone with you,” he repeated, with grim insistence.

Saltash regarded him curiously.  His mouth twitched mockingly as he put the cigarette between his lips.  He held out the case to Jake in mute invitation.

Jake’s look remained fixed.  He ignored the action, and the case snapped shut in Saltash’s hand with a sharp sound that seemed to denote a momentary exasperation.  But Saltash’s face still retained the monkey-like expression of calculated mischief habitual to it.

“Bunny with you?” he enquired casually, producing a match-box.

“No.”  Very quietly came Jake’s answer.  “I have come to see you—­alone.”

Saltash lighted his cigarette, and blew a careless cloud of smoke.  “Are you proposing to shoot me?” he asked, after a pause.

“No,” said Jake grimly.  “Shooting’s too good for you—­men like you.”