"Oh, no! He is not the sort of man who would. But other people talk. You see, I'm afraid there's some sort of black-mail going on, and he oughtn't to submit to it. His friends oughtn't to allow it. If--if one could see the woman and frighten her a little----" "Is that what you wanted me for?" asked Oswyn impatiently. "If so, allow me----" The other hastened to reassure him. "Oh, no, not at all. But I thought you might be able to tell me where the person is to be found, her address, or something about her. I understand that she was a model; you probably know her...." The painter shrugged his shoulders. "Who is she? What is her name?" "Kitty--that's all I know." "Kitty? Kitty Crichton, I suppose." A light dawned on him; the name opened a door to many forgotten trivial incidents. He did not speak again for a minute, and when he broke the silence there was a harder tone in his voice, and he rose from his chair at the same time. "I don't see how this can concern me, or you, either. You must pardon me if I say that I dislike meddling, and people who meddle." Sylvester blushed hotly. "You don't suppose I want to do him anything but good," he said diplomatically, trying to convince himself that he was not damaging the reputation for perfect candour which he hoped that he enjoyed. "It's not a pleasant task, but there are circumstances in which one has to sacrifice one's scruples--one's feelings." Oswyn glanced at him again, with some contempt in the lines of his worn face. "Excuse me if I refrain from sounding your motives." Then he paused, fingering his soft felt hat. Suddenly his face was illumined by a remarkably grim smile, and it became evident to the man who was watching him so anxiously that there had occurred some change in his mental perspective. "I don't quite understand why you brought me into this," he added, the smile still hovering very lightly on his lips. "However, under the circumstances, I think I can't do much harm by putting you in the way of finding Mrs. Crichton. Let me recommend you to inquire for her at the office of the _Outcry_, the newspaper--she used to work for it, I believe--in Took's Court. They will know her address there. Took's Court--it's only a few minutes' walk from here. Thanks, I can find my way out...." "I suppose that was rather a stupid thing to do," he said regretfully, as he stopped in the doorway below to light a cigarette, "though not such a _betise_ as his, _mon dieu_!... But I couldn't resist the temptation. Now, I wonder if he's clever enough to find out the truth?" CHAPTER XXI