Five-and-twenty minutes to three! ... Well, he had better see what he had to pay; it was no use hoping any longer. Well, just five minutes!--the last stake. If she weren't here then, she wouldn't come at all; she wouldn't expect him to wait at the door all day.... "At the door!"--his heart stopped--the words bore suddenly a new significance. In Blithepoint "at the door" might have meant at the door of her lodgings. Could it be possible she had misunderstood--had she thought he would be on the doorstep in Great Titchfield Street? No! how could she? she had told him she was married. But the address was Tattie's--yes, she might have thought so! Good heavens! had _she_ been waiting there for _him_? Perspiration broke out on him. What was he to do? Look at the time!--she had given him up long ago, she had gone away! ... Oh, how could she have thought it? he had named the restaurant! ... Still it was very odd she hadn't come. He must find her, he must explain! But--but--but she was a married woman, he couldn't go and peal the bell and ask for her. Wait a moment, what had she said? Was she to stay with Tattie, or was Tattie to stay with her? ... Anyhow Tattie _was_ there. Yes, he _could_ go--he could go there and ask for Tattie! His head was spinning. What the devil had become of all the cabs? Two minutes later the portier had blown his whistle, and Soho was behind. The pace was reckless, but to Conrad's fevered stare even the omnibuses seemed to mock his hansom. Alternately he threw bribes and objurgations through the trap. Where was Great Titchfield Street hidden? Were they making a tour of the West End slums? The cab jerked to a stoppage at last, and he leapt out, and hesitated. Nothing but shops confronted him. Had he forgotten the number--wasn't it "42 bis?" The next moment he saw the name, painted over a window--"Madame Hermiance, French Laundress." It was very warm inside. Three girls, and a moist loosely clothed woman, whose opulent bosom was partially concealed, stood at work behind a long table. It fluttered with aerial frills and scraps of pink tissue paper; one of the girls was folding things up, and making them look pretty. He said, "Bonjour, madame," and the woman said, "Good afternoon, sare." "Miss Lascelles, is she staying here? Is she in?" "Oh no, sare, she is gone." "Gone?" ejaculated Conrad. "She did lodge 'ere," added the laundress; "I let 'er a room upstairs; but she go away--she get an engagement. You mean an actress, isn't it?" "Yes, yes," he said, "I know all about the engagement, but she came back. She came back the day before yesterday, didn't she?" "Mais non, monsieur." She shook her head. "She is not come back." "Damn," he faltered. "Er--but there was a letter sent here for her--it must have been delivered yesterday morning. What has become of the letter?"