"Oh! you mean that girl?" answered Schuabe, contemptuously. "Well, buy another. They are for sale in all the theatres, you know."
"It's all very well to sneer like that," replied Llwellyn. "It's nothing to me that you're about as cold-blooded as a fish, but you needn't sneer at a man who is not. Because you enjoy yourself by means of asceticism you have no more virtue than I have. I am fond of this one girl; she has become necessary to my life. I spent thousands on her, and then this abominable young parson takes her away —" He ground his teeth savagely, his face became purple, he was unable to finish his sentence.
Curiously enough Schuabe seemed to be in sympathy with his host's rage. A deadly and vindictive expression crept into his eyes, which were nevertheless more glittering and cold than before.
"Gortre has come back to London. He has been here nearly a week," said Schuabe, quickly.
The other started. "You know his movements then? What has he to do with you?"
"More than, perhaps, you think. Llwellyn, that young man is dangerous!"
"He's done me all the harm he can already. There is nothing else he can do, unless he elopes with Lady Llwellyn, an event which I should view with singular equanimity."
"At any rate, I take sufficient interest in that person's movements to have them reported to me daily."
"Why on earth — ?"
"Simply because he guesses, or will guess, at the truth about the Damascus Gate sepulchre!"
Llwellyn grew utterly white. When he spoke it was with several preliminary moistenings of the lips.
"But what proof can he have?"
