Sir Robert's door stood open. I stepped across and looked in. I had
pushed my hat to the back of my head, to let the air cool my forehead.
And I think I was swinging my stick.
From behind the closed door across the hall came, very faintly, that
floating, silvery voice.
Sir Robert's room was in confusion. He had drawn his leather steamer
trunk to the center of the room, opened it, and placed the tray across
an arm-chair that stood by the head of the bed. The bed was covered with
shirts, underwear, collars, books and papers in disorderly heaps. Shoes
littered the floor. His evening clothes were laid out on the table,
other suits across a chair.
On the edge of the bed, amid the disorder, sat Sir Robert. He was in his
shirt sleeves. His waistcoat was unbuttoned, his white hair rumpled so
that it stuck up grotesquely over his ears.
“Well, well,” said I. “Is n't this unexpected?” He looked up.
His face never had any color to speak of, but now it was a pasty gray.
His eyes were sunken, but with a curious sparkle in them. He said
nothing, just stared at me.
“Well,” I repeated, “are you leaving?”
Still he merely stared at me. It was unpleasant. I felt my assurance
fading out, and stood stupidly there, unable to think of anything
further to say. “He's here!” whispered Sir Robert then.
“Who--who--” My nerves were tightening. The left side of his face
twitched.
I heard myself saying--“But that's impossible. He would n't be here
yet.”
Sir Robert dropped his eyes now. I was glad of this. They made me
extremely uncomfortable. He began packing his shirts in the tray of his
trunk.
“How did he come here?” It was still myself speaking.
“Good God--how should I know!” he muttered. “What has that to do with
it?”
“Where are you going?”
“I don't know,” he was answering me. “There are trains in the morning.
And I won't stay here to-night. I won't stay here to-night!”
“Are you sure of this?” I asked. Why was it that my mind seemed to be
refusing utterly to react from this news! Why could n't I realize it!
Why could n't I think!
“He's at the Wagon-lits. I saw him. He is drinking. This is no place for
you, either. I advise you to move quick.”
“No,” said I, “I shall see him. He and I got on very well. I shall talk
with him. It is time some one forced him to listen to reason.”
Sir Robert, I recall, had a shoe in his hand at this moment. It fell to
the floor. At the noise, we both started. His face twitched again--on
the left side. He looked at me, with eyes like little glass beads.
“Why not?” I added.
Sir Robert drew in a long breath.
“Crocker told me he was going to kill that woman and the man she is
living with,” he said, slowly and huskily.
“Yes,” I put in, with a sort of eagerness, “but don't you see--”
“It would be exceedingly difficult to convince a jury,” he went on,
deliberately silencing me, “that she is not at present living with--”
“Well?” said I, thinking queer, rapid thoughts.
“You,” he finished.
_April 12th--very late._
|I WALKED slowly Lack into my own room, trying to think; but my mind was
inert.
In the next room Heloise was still singing, softly and brightly.