Wrayson drew a sigh of relief. Perhaps, for the first time, he realized how great a weight this thing had been upon his spirits. He had feared Heneage!--not this man, but the cold, capable Stephen Heneage of his earlier acquaintance; feared him not only for his own sake, but hers. After all, his visit to the Alhambra had brought some good to him. Heneage had risen to his feet. "We'll go into the American bar," he said. "Not here. The women fuss round one so. I'm glad you've turned up, Wrayson. I've got the hump!" The bar was crowded, but they found a quiet corner. Heneage ordered a large brandy and soda, and drunk half of it at a gulp. "How's every one?" Wrayson asked. "I haven't been in the club yet." "All right, I believe. I haven't been in myself for a week," Heneage answered. Wrayson looked at him in surprise. "Haven't been in the club for a week?" he repeated. "That's rather unusual, isn't it?" "Damn it all! I'm not obliged to go there, am I?" Heneage exclaimed testily. Wrayson looked at him in amazement. Heneage, as a rule, was one of the most deliberate and even-tempered of men. "Of course not," he answered. "You won't mind telling me how the Colonel is, though, will you?" "I believe he is very well," Heneage answered, more calmly. "He doesn't come up to town so often this hot weather. Forgive me for being a bit impatient, old fellow. I've got a fit of nerves, I think." "You want a change," Wrayson said earnestly. "There's no doubt about that." "I am going away very soon," Heneage answered. "As soon as I can get off. I don't mind telling you, Wrayson, that I've had a shock, and it has upset me." Wrayson nodded sympathetically. "All right, old chap," he said. "I'm beastly sorry, but if you take my advice, you'll get out of London as soon as you can. Go to Trouville or Dinard, or some place where there's plenty of life. I shouldn't busy myself in the country, if I were you. By the bye," he added, "there is one more question I should like to ask you, if you don't mind." Heneage called a waiter and ordered more drinks. Then he turned to Wrayson. "Well," he said, "go on!" "About that little brute, Barnes' brother. Is he about still?" Heneage's face darkened. He clenched his fist, but recovered himself with a visible effort. "Yes!" he answered shortly, "he is about. He is everywhere. The little brute haunts me! He dogs my footsteps, Wrayson. Sometimes I wonder that I don't sweep him off the face of the earth." "But why?" Wrayson asked. "What does he want with you?" "I will tell you," Heneage answered. "When he first turned up, I was interested in his story, as you know. We commenced working at the thing together. You understand, Wrayson?" "Perfectly!"