For the moment I could put up no better delay--as neither could Jimmy--than to call "hush!" and pretend to listen to Jack's faintly recovering heart-beat. But Farrell heard, and answered,-- "It's true, Miss Denistoun. . . . I had no notion to find him here; still less to find you and distress you. I came to Sir Roderick. But the dog here was wiser. _He_ knew the scent on the stairs, and raced in ahead. . . . I am sorry to say it, Miss Denistoun: but that blackguard yonder took ship and left me solitary,--to die, for aught he knew. Let him come-to, and then we'll talk." Constantia rose. Slowly she picked up her gloves and sunshade. "No, we will not talk," she said, after a pause. "That talk is for you four men. I--I have no wish to see him recover." As she said it, she very slowly detached from her breast-knot the rose which had carried my felicitation, and laid it on the table: and, with that, she walked out, Farrell drawing aside to make way for her. NIGHT THE TWENTY-SECOND. THE SECOND MAN ESCAPES. Now that exit of Constantia's, I must tell you, had an instant and very remarkable effect upon Farrell, though she swept by him without perceiving it. A moment before he had stood barring the doorway, his legs planted wide, his eyes fierce, his chest panting as he waited for his enemy to come back to life, his mouth working and twisting with impatience to let forth its flood of denunciation. As Constantia walked to the door he not only drew back a foot to let her pass. He drew his whole body back, bowed for all the world like any shop-walker letting out a customer, even thrust out a hand, as by remembered instinct and as if to pull open an imaginary swing-door for a departing customer of rank. In short, for a moment the man reverted to his past--to Farrell of the Tottenham Court Road. . . . Nor was this all. As she went by him he slewed about to follow her with his eyes, kicking aside the dog that hampered him, crouching against his legs: and still his gaze followed her, to the outer door. Not until she had closed the outer door behind her did he face about on the room again; and still it was as if all the wind had been shaken, of a sudden, out of his sails. His next words, moreover-- strange as they were--would have stablished his identity with Farrell even had any doubt lingered in us. "Funny thing," said he, addressing us vaguely, "how like blood tells, even down to a look in the eyes. I was husband to a woman once, thousands of miles from here and foreign of race: but she came of kings, though far away back, and Miss Denistoun, Sir Roderick, she reminded me, just then--" "Look here, Mr. Farrell," I broke in; "with your leave we won't discuss Miss Denistoun, here or anywhere--as, with your leave, we'll cut all further conversation until Dr. Foe is fit for it, which at this moment he pretty obviously is not. It may help your silence if I tell you that the lady who has just left is, or was, engaged to marry him."