“Always.  I found him in the smoking-room.  He showed the most persistent interest in our proceedings, Val.  I couldn’t get him to talk of anything else, so at last I told him exactly what had happened.”

“Did you tell him that we began to sit last night in a different room?”

“Yes.  That was curious.  Directly I said it he began making minute inquiries as to what the room was like, how the furniture was placed, even what pictures hung on the walls.”

“The pictures!”

“Yes.  I described them.”

“All of them?”

“No, one or two; that favorite of yours, ‘The Merciful Knight,’ the
Turner, those girls of Solomon’s with the man playing to them, and—­yes,
I think those were all.”

“Oh!”

“He said, ’You made a great mistake in changing your venue to that room, a great mistake.’  Then I explained how we moved back to the tentroom in the middle of the sitting, and all about Rip.”

“Did he make any remark?”

“One that struck me as very quaint, ‘You are en route.’”

“Enigmatic again.  He was playing the wizard.”

“He spoke very gravely.”

“Of course.  Great gravity is part of the business.”

“Afterwards he said, ‘Turn that dog out next time.’”

“And that was all?”

“I think so.”

Valentine sat musing.  Presently he said: 

“I should rather like to meet this Marr.”

“Oh, I don’t think—­I fancy—­”

“Well?”

“I’d as soon you didn’t.”

“Why?”

“I don’t think you’d get on.  You wouldn’t like him.”

“For what reason?”

“I don’t know.  I’ve a notion he’s something exceptional in the way of a blackguard.  Perhaps I am wrong.  I haven’t an idea what sort of a reputation he has.  But he is black, Valentine, not at all your colour.  Oh! and, by the way, he doesn’t want to meet you.”

“How charming of him!”

“I had half suggested it, I don’t know why, and he said, ’Thanks!  Thanks!  Chance will bring us together later on if we ought to meet.’  And now I am glad he wasn’t keen.  Shall we begin?  Put Rip into your bedroom, as he advised.  Besides, I can’t stand his barking.”

Valentine carried the little dog away.  When he came back he shut the tentroom door and was about to draw the curtain over it.  But Julian stopped him.

“No, don’t,” Julian said.

“Why not?”

“I would rather you didn’t.  I hate that curtain.  If I were you I would have it taken down altogether.”

Valentine looked at him in surprise.  He had uttered the words with an energy almost violent.  But even as Valentine looked Julian switched off the electric light and the leaping darkness hid his face.

“Come now.  Business!  Business!” he cried.

And again they sat with their hands loosely on the table, not touching each other.