although at the time he could not have classified it, was assuredly a passion of jealousy! He remembered the man Barnes, whom he hated.
"You shall not go to his rooms—at this hour!" he exclaimed. "You don't know the man! If you were seen"
She laughed mockingly.
"Let me pass!" she insisted.
He hesitated. She saw very clearly that she was conquering. A moment before she had respected this man. After all, though, he was like the others.
"I will go with you and wait outside," he said doggedly. "Barnes, at this hour—is not always sober!"
Her lips curled.
"Be wise," she said, "and let me go. I do not need your protection or"
She broke off suddenly. The interruption was certainly startling enough. From a table only a few feet off came the shrill tinkle of a telephone bell. Wrayson mechanically stepped backwards and took the receiver into his hand.
"Who is it?" he asked.
The voice which answered him was faint but clear. It seemed to Wrayson to come from a long way off.
"Is that Mr. Wrayson's flat in Cavendish Mansions?" it asked.
"Yes!" Wrayson answered. "Who are you?"
"I am a friend of Mr. Morris Barnes," the voice answered. "May I apologize for calling you up, but the matter is urgent. Can you tell me if Mr. Barnes is in?"
"I am not sure, but I believe he is never in before one or two o'clock," Wrayson answered.
