Leslie allowed the gibe to pass. He was prepared to make allowances for Nugent's disappointment, now that he was persuaded that he had definitely abandoned the plot against Violet, and was only concerned in hiding all traces of it. On the whole, the plan for evading arrest rather appealed to him. With a dull despair at his heart, he had already realized that the vengeful Frenchwoman had shattered his day-dream. Of what use to him would be good old Aunt Sarah's benefaction, when there was hanging over his head a murder charge which, even if he could refute it, would remove Violet beyond his pale for ever? "I suppose you're right," he gave his tardy consent. "And if I have got to go, the sooner the better. When do you propose that I should start?" Travers Nugent rose with a sigh of unaffected relief. "I expect it will be the day after to-morrow," he made answer. "But we will meet again to arrange final details. In the meanwhile, my dear fellow, let me congratulate you on the one gleam of common-sense you have shown throughout our disastrous association. All my energies must now be directed to chaining up that wild-cat of a French maid till you are safely on board." Nodding curtly, he walked to the door, opened it, and, passing down the stairs, left the club. Leslie, following more leisurely, was moved by a great curiosity to see if he could account for that ominous creak. He glanced into the reading-room, but there was no one there. It was too early in the afternoon for the assembly of members who came to chat and see the papers. The click of balls, unusual at that hour, attracted him to the billiard-room, and, entering, he was confronted with an enigma. The lean, ascetic form of Mr. Mallory was bending over the table, poising his cue for a difficult cannon, which he delayed for an instant because of the interruption, and then made with an unerring precision. His antagonist was the burly and rubicund General Kruse, who had his nose buried in a whisky and soda. On the lounge, watching the game with sardonic contempt, sat the cadaverous Mr. Lazarus Lowch, the foreman of the jury at the inquest on Levison, and but a rare visitor to the billiard-room. Leslie walked to the scoring-board and noted the state of the game. It stood at 5-2, and could therefore have been only just begun. It followed that any one of these three gentlemen, so oddly occupied at an unaccustomed hour, when they ought to have been enjoying an after-luncheon siesta at home, might have caused the sound on the stairs a few minutes before. Which of them could it have been? How much of that momentous interview, on which his liberty and his life might depend, had been overheard? CHAPTER XV A COUNCIL OF THREE