“Well—­” Louis began at a disadvantage.  “Who says I’m off to America?”

Horrocleave advanced his chin and clenched a fist.

“Don’t you go!” said he.  “If ye did, ye might be brought back by the scruff o’ the neck.  You mark my words and come down to the works to-morrow morning—­to-morrow, ye understand!” He was breathing quickly.  Then a malicious grin seemed to pass over his face as his glance rested for an instant on Louis’ plasters.  The next instant he walked away, and Louis heard him at the cloak-room counter barking the one word, “Mackintosh.”

Louis understood, only too completely.  During his absence from the works Horrocleave had amused himself by critically examining the old petty-cash book.  That was all, and it was enough.  Good-bye to romance, to adventure, to the freedom of the larger world!  The one course to pursue was to return home, to deny (as was easy) that the notion of going to America had ever occurred to him, or even the notion of putting up at the hotel, and with such dignity as he could assume to restore to Horrocleave the total sum abstracted.  With care and luck he might yet save his reputation.  It was impossible that Horrocleave should prosecute.  And what was seventy odd pounds, after all?  He was master of thousands.

If he could but have walked straight out of the hotel!  But he could not.  His dignity, the most precious of all his possessions, had to be maintained.  Possibly Krupp had overheard the conversation, or divined its nature.  He strolled back into the lounge.

“A benedictine,” he ordered casually, and, neatly pulling up his trousers at the knee, sank into a basket-chair and crossed his legs, while blowing forth much smoke.

“Yes, sir.”

When Krupp brought the tiny glass, Louis paid for it without looking at him, and gave a good tip.  Ah!  He would have liked to peer into Krupp’s inmost mind and know exactly how Krupp had been discussing him with Jim Horrocleave.  He would have liked to tell Krupp in cutting tones that waiters had no right to chatter to one customer about another.  And then he would have liked to destroy Krupp.  But he could not.  His godlike dignity would not permit him to show by even the slightest gesture that he had been inconvenienced.  The next moment he perceived that Providence had been watching over him.  If he had gone to America unknown to Horrocleave, Horrocleave might indeed have proved seriously awkward....  Extradition—­was there such a word, and such a thing?  He finished the benedictine, went to the cloak-room and obtained his hat, coat, stick, and parcel; and the hovering Krupp helped him with his overcoat; and as Destiny cast him out of the dear retreat which a little earlier he had entered with such pleasurable anticipations, he was followed down the corridor by the aloof, disinterested gaze of the Swiss whose enigma no Staffordshire man had ever penetrated.

CHAPTER XVIII