Sabatini, already dressed for the evening, his coat upon his arm, paused only to light a cigarette and read once more the telegram which he held between his fingers, before he left his house to step into the automobile which was waiting outside.  His servant entered the room with his silk hat.

“You will remember carefully my instructions, Pietro?” he said.

“Assuredly, sir,” the man answered.

“If there is a telegram, any communication from the Embassy, or telephone message, you will bring it to me yourself, at once, at number 17, Grosvenor Square.  If any one should call to see me, you know exactly where I am to be found.”

“There is a young gentleman here now, sir,” the man announced.  “He has just arrived.”

“The young gentleman who was here before, to-day?” Sabatini asked.

“The same, Excellency.”

Sabatini laid down his coat.

“You can show him in,” he directed.  “Wait for me outside.”

Arnold, who had come straight from the unknown world in which he had found Isaac, was shown in immediately.  Pietro closed the door and withdrew.  Sabatini looked inquiringly at his visitor.

“You have seen Isaac?” he asked.

“I have seen him,” Arnold assented.

“You bring me news?”

“It is true,” Arnold replied.  “I bring news.”

Sabatini waited patiently.  Arnold remained, for a moment, gloomily silent.  It was hard to know how to commence.

“You will forgive my reminding you,” Sabatini said quietly, “that I am on the point of starting out to keep an engagement.  I would not mention it but in one respect London hostesses are exacting.  There are many liberties which are permitted here, but one must not be late for dinner.”

Arnold’s memory flashed back to the scene which he had just left—­to Isaac, the outcast, crouched beneath his barricade of furniture, waiting in the darkness with his loaded pistol and murder in his heart.  Sabatini, calm and dignified in his rigidly correct evening dress, his grace and good-looks, represented with curious appositeness the other extreme of life.

“I will not keep you long,” Arnold began, “but there is something which you must hear from me, and hear at once.”

“Assuredly,” Sabatini murmured.  “It is something connected with your visit to this poor, misguided outcast.  I am afraid there is nothing we can do for him.”

“There is nothing any one can do for him,” Arnold declared.  “I went to see him because, when he fled from his rooms and they were seized by the police, his niece was left penniless and homeless.  Fortunately, the change in my own circumstances permitted me to offer her a shelter—­for the moment, at any rate.  I have told you something of this before but I am obliged to repeat it.  You will understand presently.  It is of some importance.”

Sabatini bowed.

“The young lady is still under your care?” he asked.