A long, low car, the chauffeur temporarily detained by the stoppage of a motorbus ahead, had slowed up within three yards of the spot where they were standing. Gray seized Seton’s arm in a fierce grip. “Seton,” he said, his voice betraying intense excitement, “Look! There is Monte Irvin!” “In the car?” “Yes, yes! But—he has two _police_ with him! Seton, what can it mean?” The car moved away, swinging to the right across the traffic stream and clearly heading for old Bond Street. Quentin Gray’s mercurial color deserted him, and he turned to Seton a face grown suddenly pale. “Good God,” he whispered, “something has happened to Rita!” Neglectful of his personal safety, he plunged out into the traffic, dodging this way and that, and making after Monte Irvin’s car. Of the fact that his friend was close beside him he remained unaware until, on the corner of old Bond Street, a firm grip settled upon his shoulder. Gray turned angrily. But the grip was immovable, and he found himself staring into the unemotional face of Seton Pasha. “Seton, for God’s sake, don’t detain me! I must learn what’s wrong.” “Pull up, Gray.” Quentin Gray clenched his teeth. “Listen to me, Seton. This is no time for interference. I—” “You are about to become involved in some very unsavory business; and I repeat—pull up. In a moment we shall learn all there is to be learned. But are you determined openly to thrust yourself into the family affairs of Mr. Monte Irvin?” “If anything has happened to Rita I’ll kill that damned cur Pyne!” “You are determined to intrude upon this man in your present frame of mind at a time of evident trouble?” But Gray was deaf to the promptings of prudence and good taste alike. “I’m going to see the thing through,” he said hoarsely. “Quite so. Rely upon me. But endeavor to behave more like a man of the world and less like a dangerous lunatic, or we shall quarrel atrociously.” Quentin Gray audibly gnashed his teeth, but the cool stare of the other’s eyes was quelling, and now as their glances met and clashed, a sympathetic smile softened the lines of Seton’s grim mouth, and: “I quite understand, old chap,” he said, linking his arm in Gray’s. “But can’t you see how important it is, for everybody’s sake, that we should tackle the thing coolly?” “Seton”—Gray’s voice broke—“I’m sorry. I know I’m mad; but I was with her only an hour ago, and now—” “And now ‘her’ husband appears on the scene accompanied by a police inspector and a sergeant. What are your relations with Mr. Monte Irvin?” They were walking rapidly again along Bond Street. “What do you mean, Seton?” asked Gray. “I mean does he approve of your friendship with his wife, or is it a clandestine affair?” “Clandestine?—certainly not. I was on my way to call at the house when I met her with Pyne this evening.” “That is what I wanted to know. Very well; since you intend to follow the thing up, it simplifies matters somewhat. Here is the car.”