He paused for a moment, choking down the immense agitation which rose up in his throat and half strangled speech. Schuabe's eyes, attentive and fixed, were still uncomprehending. Still the Jew did not see whither Llwellyn was leading--could not understand. "She's gone!" said the big man, all colour fading absolutely from his face. "And, Schuabe, in my mad folly and infatuation, in my incredible foolishness ... _I told her everything_." A sudden sharp animal moan burst from Schuabe's lips--clear, vibrant, and bestial in the silence. His rigidity changed into an extraordinary trembling. It was a temporary palsy which set every separate limb trembling with an independent motion. He waited thus, with an ashen face, to hear more. Llwellyn, when the irremediable fact had passed his lips, when the enormous difficulty of confession was surmounted, proceeded with slight relief: "This might, you will think, be just possibly without significance for us. It might be a coincidence. _But it is not so, Schuabe._ I know now, as certainly as I can know anything, that she came to me, was sent to me, by the people who have got hold of her. _There has been suspicion for some time_, there must have been. We have been ruined by this woman I trusted." "But why ... how?" "Because, Schuabe, as I was walking down Chancery Lane not an hour since I saw Gertrude come out of Lincoln's Inn with the clergyman Gortre. They got into a cab together and drove away. And more: I learn from Lambert, my assistant at the Museum, that Harold Spence, the journalist, who is a member of his club and a friend of his, _left for Palestine several days ago_." "I have just heard," whispered Schuabe, "that Sir Michael Manichoe has been buying large parcels of Consols." "The thing is over. We must----" "Hush!" said the Jew, menacingly. "All is not lost yet. Perhaps, the strong probability is, that only this Gortre knows yet. Even if anything is known to others, it is only vague, and cannot be substantiated until the man in Palestine gets a letter. Without this woman and Gortre we are safe." The Professor looked at him and understood. Nor was there any terror in his face, only a faint film of relief. Five minutes afterwards the two distinguished men, talking easily together, walked through the vestibule of the hotel, down the great courtyard and into the roaring Strand. A hotel clerk explained the celebrities to a voluble group of American tourists as they went by. CHAPTER V BY THE TOWER OF HIPPICUS Harold Spence was essentially a man of action. His mental and moral health depended for its continuance upon the active prosecution of affairs more than most men's. A product of the day, "modern" in his culture, modern in his ideals, he must live the vivid, eager, strenuous life of his times or the fibres of his brain became slack and loosened.