“I’ll stay here,” he said, and his voice was loud and defiant. “I’m not a baby, that I can’t be trusted out alone. You’ve no right to come here, making me look a fool.” He glowered at his father. “You’ve kept me down all these years, denied me money that I ought to have had—and who are you that you should pretend to be shocked because I’m in a decent club, wearing decent clothes? I’m straight: can you say the same? If I wasn’t straight, could you blame me? You’re not going to put any of that kind father stuff over——” “Come away.” John Bennett’s voice was hoarse. “I’m staying here,” said Ray violently. “And in future you can leave me alone. The break had to come some time, and it might as well come now.” They stood facing one another, father and son, and in the tired eyes of John Bennett was a look of infinite sadness. “You’re a silly boy, Ray. Perhaps I haven’t done all I could——” “Perhaps!” sneered the other. “Why, you know it! You get out!” And then, as he turned his head, he saw the suppressed smiles on the face of the audience, and the hurt to his vanity drove him mad. “Come,” said John gently, and laid his hand on the boy’s arm. With a roar of fury Ray broke loose . . . in a second the thing was done. The blow that struck John Bennett staggered him, but he did not fall. And then, through the guests who thronged about the two, came Ella. She realized instantly what had happened. Elk had slipped from his seat and was standing behind the boy, ready to pin him if he raised his hand again. But Ray Bennett stood, frozen with horror, speechless, incapable of movement. “Father!” The white-faced girl whispered the word. The head of John Bennett dropped, and he suffered himself to be led away. Dick Gordon wanted to follow and comfort, but he saw Johnson going after them and went back to his table. Again the music started, and they took Ray Bennett back to his table, where he sat, head on hand, till Lola signalled a waiter to bring more wine. “There are times,” said Elk, “when the prodigal son and the fatted calf look so like one another that you can’t tell ’em apart.” Dick said nothing, but his heart bled for the mystery man of Horsham. For he had seen in John Bennett’s face the agony of the damned. CHAPTER XIII A RAID ON ELDOR STREET JOHNSON did not come back, and in many respects the two men were glad. Elk had been on the point of telling the secretary to clear, and he hoped that Mr. Maitland would follow his example. As if reading his thoughts, the old man rose soon after the room had quietened down. He had sat through the scene which had followed Ray’s meeting with his father, and had apparently displayed not the slightest interest in the proceedings. It was as though his mind were so far away that he could not bring himself to a realization of actualities. “He’s going, and he hasn’t paid his bill,” whispered Elk.