“I’ve promised.”

“You must break your promise.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You must!”

“I can’t.  One must play the game.”

Jimmy groped for words.  “But in this case you mustn’t—­it’s awful—­in this special case—­” He broke off.  He saw the trap he was in.  He could not denounce that crook without exposing himself.  And from that he still shrank.  Ann’s prejudice against Jimmy Crocker might have its root in a trivial and absurd grievance, but it had been growing through the years, and who could say how strong it was now?

Ann came a step towards him, then paused doubtfully.  Then, as if making up her mind, she drew near and touched his sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

There was a silence.

“I’m sorry!”

She moved away.  The door closed softly behind her.  Jimmy scarcely knew that she had gone.  He sat down in that deep chair which was Mr. Pett’s favourite, and stared sightlessly at the ceiling.  And then, how many minutes or hours later he did not know, the sharp click of the door-handle roused him.  He sprang from the chair.  Was it Ann, come back?

It was not Ann.  Round the edge of the door came inquiringly the fair head of Lord Wisbeach.

“Oh!” said his lordship, sighting Jimmy.

The head withdrew itself.

“Come here!” shouted Jimmy.

The head appeared again.

“Talking to me?”

“Yes, I was talking to you.”

Lord Wisbeach followed his superstructure into the room.  He was outwardly all that was bland and unperturbed, but there was a wary look in the eye that cocked itself at Jimmy, and he did not move far from the door.  His fingers rested easily on the handle behind him.  He did not think it probable that Jimmy could have heard of his visit to Mrs. Pett, but there had been something menacing in the latter’s voice, and he believed in safety first.

“They told me Miss Chester was here,” he said by way of relaxing any possible strain there might be in the situation.

“And what the devil do you want with Miss Chester, you slimy, crawling second-story-worker, you damned, oily yegg?” enquired Jimmy.

The sunniest optimist could not have deluded himself into the belief that the words were spoken in a friendly and genial spirit.  Lord Wisbeach’s fingers tightened on the door-handle, and he grew a little flushed about the cheek-bones.

“What’s all this about?” he said.

“You infernal crook!”

Lord Wisbeach looked anxious.

“Don’t shout like that!  Are you crazy?  Do you want people to hear?”

Jimmy drew a deep breath.

“I shall have to get further away from you,” he said more quietly.  “There’s no knowing what may happen if I don’t.  I don’t want to kill you.  At least, I do, but I had better not.”

He retired slowly until brought to a halt by the writing-desk.  To this he anchored himself with a firm grip.  He was extremely anxious to do nothing rash, and the spectacle of Gentleman Jack invited rashness.  He leaned against the desk, clutching its solidity with both hands.  Lord Wisbeach held steadfastly to the door-handle.  And in this tense fashion the interview proceeded.