"Ah—h!" A great sigh of relief came from the man. "Was it—a piece of music?" She looked at him quickly. "How did you know?" "An arrow at a venture," he answered. "Was it Our Tune?" "Yes—it was." "And where did you hear it?" "At the restaurant where I was dining." She lit a cigarette with studied indifference. "The Milan. I dined there with Mr. Fordingham." Hugh nodded thoughtfully. "They give you good grub there, don’t they? I see Fordingham is stopping here." "Is he?" said the girl. "I believe, now you mention it, he did say something about it." She was looking away, and did not see the sudden penetrating glance from the man on the bed. And he—in that one vital moment—knew, and was utterly and completely happy. His Colt was as innocent as a little child, and nothing else mattered on God’s earth. Then, through the great joy which was singing in his brain, he heard her speaking again. "I like Mr. Fordingham, Hugh. And you will have to understand that if I consent to come back to you, it will only be on the condition that if I want to I can go out and dine with him." It was at that moment that once again there came a knock on the door. The Colt looked up quickly, and Hugh rose. "In case it’s a message," he whispered, "I’ll get over here." He moved to a place where he could not be seen, and waited. On his face there was a grim smile as he watched her cross the room. In his mind there was absolute certainty as to who had knocked. If she wanted to, after this, she should dine with Fordingham as much as she wished. She opened the door, and stopped in amazement. "Mr. Fordingham!" she gasped. "What on earth do you want?" With a quick movement Fordingham stepped into the room and shut the door. "What do I want?" he answered, in the low, vibrant tone that was generally very successful. "Why, you, my darling little girl." Engrossed in his desire he failed to notice Hugh, who was leaning on a chest of drawers watching the scene. He also failed to notice that the look of blank amazement on the Colt’s face had been succeeded by one of outraged fury. "Give him up, little girl," he went on, "give him up and come to me." The next moment he staggered back, with a hand to his cheek. "You little spitfire," he snarled, and then quite suddenly he stood very still. For Hugh’s voice, clear and faintly amused, was speaking. "Good for you, Colt. Now the other cheek." The sound of a second blow rang through the room, and Hugh laughed gently. "I—I——" stammered Fordingham. "There’s been a mistake. I—I—must apologize. The wrong room——" He stood cringing by the door, staring fearfully at Hugh, who had left his position by the chest of drawers, and was standing in front of him.