Hamel raised his glass and bowed to his host and hostess. He was not wholly at his ease. It seemed to him that he was being watched with a queer persistence by both of them. Mrs. Fentolin continued to talk and laugh with a gaiety which was too obviously forced. Mr. Fentolin posed for a while as the benevolent listener. He mildly applauded his sister-in-law’s stories, and encouraged Hamel in the recital of some of his reminiscences. Suddenly the door was opened. Miss Price appeared. She walked smoothly across the room and stood by Mr. Fentolin’s side. Stooping down, she whispered in his ear. He pushed his chair back a little from the table. His face was dark with anger. “I said not before ten to-night,” he muttered. Again she spoke in his ear, so softly that the sound of her voice itself scarcely travelled even as far as where Hamel was sitting. Mr. Fentolin looked steadfastly for a moment at his sister-in-law and from her to Hamel. Then he backed his chair away front the table. “I shall have to ask to be excused for three minutes,” he said. “I must speak upon the telephone. It is a call from some one who declares that they have important news.” He turned the steering-wheel of his chair, and with Miss Price by his side passed across the dining-room, out of the Oasis of rose-shaded lights into the shadows, and through the open door. From there he turned his head before he disappeared, as though to watch his guest. Mrs. Fentolin was busy fondling one of her dogs, which she had raised to her lap, and Hamel was watching her with a tolerant smile. “Koto, you little idiot, why can’t you sit up like your sister? Was its tail in the way, then! Mr. Hamel,” she whispered under her breath, so softly that he barely caught the words, although he was only a few feet away, “don’t look at me. I feel as though we were being watched all the time. You can destroy that piece of paper in your pocket. All that it says is ‘Leave here immediately after dinner.’” Hamel sipped his wine in a nonchalant fashion. His fingers had strayed over the silky coat of the little dog, which she had held out as though for his inspection. “How can I?” he asked. “What excuse can I make?” “Invent one,” she insisted swiftly. “Leave here before ten o’clock. Don’t let anything keep you. And destroy that piece of paper in your pocket, if you can--now.” “But, Mrs. Fentolin--” he began. She caught up one of her absurd little pets and held it to her mouth. “Meekins is in the doorway,” she whispered. “Don’t argue with me, please. You are in danger you know nothing about. Pass me the cigarettes.”