“Will you swear this is true?” Leon said, his voice trembling with excitement.

“I’ll schwear it!” Curtis answered, “but you look crossh.  Whatsh the matter, Leon? God!  What’s the matter!”

An hour later, as Kelson was rising from his chair in front of the fire to gaze, for the hundredth time that evening, into the eyes of Lilian Rosenberg’s portrait on the mantelshelf, the door of his room flew open and in staggered Curtis—­white, wet and bloated.

“Great heavens!” Kelson cried.  “What the deuce have you been doing to yourself?  You look a perfect devil!”

“I am one!” Curtis groaned.  “I am one, Matt!  I’ve given your show away.”

“My show away!  Why, what the deuce do you mean?”

In a string of broken sentences Curtis explained what had happened.  “I’m damned sorry, Matt, old man,” he pleaded.  “It was the drink that did it—­I didn’t know what I was saying till it was too late—­till I saw Leon’s face—­and that cleared my brain—­brought me to myself.  It was hellish.  I remember the moment I mentioned the word marriage—­he sprang up from his chair, and as he hurried out, I heard him mutter, ‘I’ll go to her straight—­I’ll—­’ Matt, old man, he meant mischief.  I’m certain of it.  Come with me to her flat—­for God’s sake—­COME.”  And catching hold of Kelson, who leaned against the mantelshelf, dazed and stupefied, he dragged him into the street.

To revert to Hamar.  Curtis’s information had transformed him.  He was, now, another creature.  Prior to his conversation with Curtis, he had suspected, at the most, that Kelson might be contemplating a secret engagement to Lilian Rosenberg—­but a hasty marriage—­a marriage in a few days’ time—­he had never dreamt that Kelson could be as mad as that.  It was outrageous!  It was abominable!  It was sheer wholesale homicide!  At all costs the marriage must be stopped.  And mad with rage, Hamar dashed out of the hotel, and calling a taxi, drove direct to Lilian Rosenberg’s flat.

He found her alone—­alone—­and with a strange expression in her eyes—­an expression he had never noticed in them before.  She was in the act of examining a magnificent diamond ring.

“You’re quite out of breath,” she said coolly, “didn’t you come up by the lift?”

“I’ve come to talk business,” Hamar panted.  “It’s no use looking like that.  I know your secret.”

“My secret!” Lilian Rosenberg replied, opening her eyes and simulating the greatest unconcern, “what secret?  I don’t understand.”

“Oh, yes, you do!” Hamar said, “you understand only too well—­you deceitful minx.  Had I only been smart—­I should have given you the sack months ago.  This marriage of yours with Kelson shall not come off.”

“My marriage with Mr. Kelson!” Lilian Rosenberg said, turning a trifle pale.  “I really don’t know what you are talking about.”

“You do!” Hamar shouted, his fury rising.  “You do!  You know all about it.  You were seen sitting on his knee this morning, and all your conversation was overheard.  I have found out everything.  And I tell you, you shan’t marry him.”