Dope | Page 9

Passionate and self-willed, he was shaken by a storm of murderous anger. That Pyne had
planned this trick, with Rita Irvin's consent, he did not doubt, and his passive dislike of
the man became active hatred of the woman he dared not think. He had for long looked

upon Sir Lucien in the light of a rival, and the irregularity of his own infatuation for
another's wife in no degree lessened his resentment.
Again he pressed his ear to the door, and listened intently. Perhaps they were hiding
within. Perhaps this charlatan, Kazmah, was an accomplice in the pay of Sir Lucien.
Perhaps this was a secret place of rendezvous.
To the manifest absurdity of such a conjecture he was blind in his anger. But that he was
helpless, befooled, he recognized; and with a final muttered imprecation he turned and
slowly descended the stair. A lingering hope was dispelled when, looking right and left
along Bond Street, he failed to perceive the missing pair.
The cabman glanced at him interrogatively. "I shall not require you," said Gray, and gave
the man half-a-crown.
Busy with his poisonous conjectures, he remained all unaware of the presence of a furtive,
stooping figure which lurked behind the railings of the arcade at this point linking old
Bond Street to Albemarle Street. Nor had the stooping stranger any wish to attract Gray's
attention. Most of the shops in the narrow lane were already closed, although the florist's
at the corner remained open, but of the shadow which lay along the greater part of the
arcade this alert watcher took every advantage. From the recess formed by a shop door he
peered out at Gray, where the light of a street lamp fell upon him, studying his face, his
movements, with unrelaxing vigilance.
Gray, following some moments of indecision, strode off towards Piccadilly. The little
man came out cautiously from his hiding-place and looked after him. Out of a dark porch,
ten paces along Bond Street, appeared a burly figure to fall into step a few yards behind
Gray. The little man licked his lips appreciatively and returned to the doorway below the
premises of Kazmah.
Reaching Piccadilly, Gray stood for a time on the corner, indifferent to the jostling of
passers-by. Finally he crossed, walked along to the Prince's Restaurant. and entered the
lobby. He glanced at his wrist- watch. It registered the hour of seven-twenty-five.
He cancelled his order for a table and was standing staring moodily towards the entrance
when the doors swung open and a man entered who stepped straight up to him, hand
extended, and:
"Glad to see you, Gray," he said. "What's the trouble?"
Quentin Gray stared as if incredulous at the speaker, and it was with an unmistakable
note of welcome in his voice that he replied:
"Seton! Seton Pasha!"
The frown disappeared from Gray's forehead, and he gripped the other's hand in hearty
greeting. But:

"Stick to plain Seton!" said the new-comer, glancing rapidly about him. "Ottoman titles
are not fashionable."
The speaker was a man of arresting personality. Above medium height, well but leanly
built, the face of Seton "Pasha" was burned to a deeper shade than England's wintry sun
is capable of producing. He wore a close-trimmed beard and moustache, and the bronze
on his cheeks enhanced the brightness of his grey eyes and rendered very noticeable a
slight frosting of the dark hair above his temples. He had the indescribable air of a "sure"
man, a sound man to have beside one in a tight place; and looking into the rather grim
face, Quentin Gray felt suddenly ashamed of himself. From Seton Pasha he knew that he
could keep nothing back. He knew that presently he should find himself telling this quiet,
brown-skinned man the whole story of his humiliation--and he knew that Seton would
not spare his feelings.
"My dear fellow," he said, "you must pardon me if I sometimes fail to respect your
wishes in this matter. When I left the East the name of Seton Pasha was on everybody's
tongue. But are you alone?"
"I am. I only arrived in London tonight and in England this morning."
"Were you thinking of dining here?"
"No; I saw you through the doorway as I was passing. But this will do as well as another
place. I gather that you are disengaged. Perhaps you will dine with me?"
"Splendid!" cried Gray. "Wait a moment. Perhaps my table hasn't gone!"
He ran off in his boyish, impetuous fashion, and Seton watched him, smiling quietly.
The table proved to be available, and ere long the two were discussing an excellent dinner.
Gray lost much of his irritability and began to talk coherently upon topics of general
interest. Presently, following an interval during which he had been covertly watching