“Perhaps madame might prefer to make her own selection.”

As I stood in the centre of the store, apparently a stumbling block to every shopper, Jacqueline flitted here and there, until a comfortable assortment of parcels was accumulated upon the counter.

“Where shall I send them, madame?” inquired the saleswoman.

There was a suit-case to be bought, so I had them transferred to the trunk and leather-goods department, where I bought a neat sole-leather suit-case which, at Jacqueline’s practical suggestion, was changed for a lighter one of plaited straw.

After that I abstained from misdirecting my companion’s activities.

And everybody addressed her as madame, and everybody smiled on us, and sometimes I reflected miserably upon the wedding ring, and then again smiled too and forgot, watching Jacqueline’s eager face flushed with delight as she looked at the pretty things in the store.

I had meditated taking her into Tiffany’s to buy her a trinket of some kind.  A ring seemed forbidden, and I was weighing the choice between a bracelet and a watch, my desire to acquire a whole counter of trinkets rapidly getting the better of my judgment, when something happened which put the idea completely out of my head.

It was while Jacqueline was examining the suitcases that my attention was drawn to a tall, elderly man with a hard, drawn, and deeply lined weather-beaten face, and wearing a massive fur overcoat, open in front, who was standing in the division between the trunk department and that adjoining it, immediately behind Jacqueline.  He was looking at me with an unmistakable glance of recognition.

I knew that I had seen him several times before, but, though his features were familiar, I had forgotten his name.

In fact, I had seen him only a week before, but the events of the past night had made a week seem like a week of years.  I stared at him and he stared back at me, and made an urgent sign to me.

Keeping an eye on Jacqueline, and not losing sight of her at any time, I followed the tall man.  As I neared him my remembrance of him grew stronger.  I knew that powerful, slouching gait, that heavy tread.  When he turned round I had his name on my lips.

It was Simon Leroux.

“So you’ve got her!” he began in a hoarse, forcible whisper.  “Where did you pick her up?  I was hurrying away from Tom’s office when I happened to see you two entering Mischenbusch’s.”

I remembered then that the office in which I had drudged was only a couple of blocks away.  I made no answer, but waited for him to lead again—­and I was thinking hard.

“There’s the devil to pay!” he went on in his execrable accent.  “Louis came on posthaste, as you know, and he hasn’t turned up this morning yet.  Ah, I always knew Tom was close, but I never dreamed you knew anything.  When I used to see sitting near the door in his office writing in those sacre books I thought you were just a clerk.  And you were in the know all the time, you were!  You know what happened last night?” he continued, looking furtively around.