But as the automobile, turning from the river, descended by way of green woods, he began restlessly to repent of his choice. His hatred of men had made him strangely dependent on women. It was not that they were able to establish any empire over his senses, but that they supplied a curious outlet to his vanity. At times, especially as in the present, when he felt the necessity of assembling every resource to meet a crisis, it became absolutely necessary for him to find, in the tribute he exacted from them, that self-confidence which he needed to override other obstacles. Often he would take in his automobile three or four women of that class which is half professional, half of the world, and, running slowly through the pleasant country, recount stories of his early struggles, of how he had railroaded an enemy to prison, or caught an adversary in a turn of the market and broken him. And when these tales of unrelenting enmity made his audience shudder, he keenly perceived it, and enjoyed almost a physical delight. But this afternoon, as the car came to a stop before one of the great apartment-houses that front the park, he remained seated, unsatisfied and defrauded. It was not a woman of the superficial wit of Mrs. Braddon who could occupy and stimulate his mind in this crisis. "Drive on," he said sharply. "Turn the corner and stop at the hotel." There he descended, and entering went to the telephone. "Mrs. Kildair?" he said eagerly, a moment later. "Who is it, please?" "This is Slade—John Slade. I’m coming over." "I can’t see you now," said a voice with a curious musical quality of self-possession. "I told you five o’clock." "What difference does half an hour make?" he said impatiently. "I have other company. You will have to be patient. At five." The connection was shut off. He rose angrily, unaccustomed to any check to his immediate impulses. At the steps a boy came skipping down for the toll he had forgotten. He paid the exact amount, contrary to his custom, and drove his body back into the cushioned seat. "Where to, sir?" said Harkness, turning. "Anywhere," he answered gruffly, and, thwarted in his desire, he said to himself furiously: "That woman always opposes me! I must teach her a lesson. I won’t go at all." But at the end of a moment he pulled out his watch impatiently and calculated the time. "Home," he said suddenly. At the house, he ran rapidly through the opening doors and up the stairs to his bedroom, where he unlocked a little safe fixed in the wall behind a tapestry that hid it, and took out a tray of rings. Sorting them quickly, with a low, cynical chuckle, he selected a magnificent ruby, slipped it into his pocket, closed the safe, and passed out of the house with the same rapidity with which he had entered. "Mrs. Kildair’s, Harkness," he said. "Drive so as to get me there at five-fifteen."