You were to go to her."
"I don't believe it," Douglas declared hotly.
"Then you don't believe me," Rice said quietly, "for on my honour I tell
you that I have seen the letter."
Douglas leaned his head upon his hand.
"I'm sorry," he said, wearily. "I believe absolutely in you, but I
believe also in her. There must be some misunderstanding."
Rice rose up. Douglas had paid the bill long ago. A waiter, overcome
with the munificence of his tip, brought them their hats and preceded
them, smiling, to the door. They passed out into the street, and the
fresh air was grateful to them both. Rice passed his arm through his
companion's.
"I want you to give me just an hour," he said--"no more."
Douglas nodded, and they made their way through a maze of squares and
streets southwards. At last Rice stopped before a house in a terrace of
smoke-begrimed tenements, and led the way inside. They mounted flight
after flight of stairs, pausing at last before a door on the topmost
floor. Rice threw it open, and motioned his companion to follow him in.
It was a small chamber, bare and gaunt, without ornament or luxury,
without even comfort. The furniture was the poorest of its sort, the
scrap of carpet was eked out with linoleum from which the pattern had
long been worn.
Pages:
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133