"Certainly. Séverac Bablon is at the bottom of the whole business. I described the device, introducing two triangles, do you remember, which appeared on the cards, to a chap at the club who is rather a learned Orientalist, and he assured me that, so far as he could judge from my description, it corresponded with that of the supposed seal of Solomon. I was unable to remember part of the design, of course. But, at any rate, this merely goes to prove that Bablon is an accomplished showman."
"I am afraid I must be going, Dick. I have to meet Zoe Oppner."
"Let's go and find a cab, then. But it was so delightful to have you all to myself, Mary, if only for a very little while."
The boyishness had gone out of his voice again, and Lady Mary knew all too well of what he was thinking. She took his arm and pressed it hard.
"I don't think anyone was ever in such a dreadful position in the world before, Dick!" she declared. "To tolerate it seems impossible, seems wrong. But to defy Rohscheimer, with your affairs as they are, means--what does it mean, Dick?"
"I dare not think what it means, Mary," he replied. "Not when _you_ are with me. But one day--soon, I am afraid--it will all be taken out of my hands. I shall tell Mr. Julius Rohscheimer exactly what I think of him, and there will be an end of the whole arrangement."
They said no more until the girl was entering the cab. Then:
"_I_ understand, Dick," she whispered, "and nobody else knows, so try to be diplomatic for a little longer."
Holding her hand, he looked into her eyes. Then, without another word between them, the cab moved off, and Haredale stood looking after it until it was lost amid the traffic. He started to walk across to Park Lane.
At the Astoria Zoe was waiting patiently. But when, at last, Mary found herself in her friend's room, the gloomy companionship of the thoughts with which she had been alone since leaving Haredale, proved too grievous to be borne alone. She threw herself on to a cushioned settee, and her troubles found vent in tears.
"Mary, dear!" cried Zoe, all that was maternal protective in her nature, asserting itself. "Tell me all about it."
The unruly mop of her brown hair mingled with the gold of her friend's, and presently, between sobs, the story was told--an old, old story enough.