About twenty minutes past six on the same evening, Bellamy, his clothes thick with dust, his face dark with anger, jumped lightly from a sixty horse-power car and rang the bell of the lift at number 15, Dover Street. Arrived on the first floor, he was confronted almost immediately by the sad-faced man-servant of Mademoiselle Idiale.
"Mademoiselle is in?" Bellamy asked quickly.
The man's expression was one of sombre regret.
"Mademoiselle is spending the day in the country, sir. Bellamy took him by the shoulders and flung him against the wall.
"Thank you," he said, "I've heard that before."
He walked down the passage and knocked softly at the door of Louise's sleeping apartment. There was no answer. He knocked again and listened at the key-hole. There was some movement inside but no one spoke.
"Louise," he cried softly, "let me in. It is I--David."
Again the only reply was the strangest of sounds. Almost it seemed as though a woman were trying to speak with a hand over her mouth. Then Bellamy suddenly stiffened into rigid attention. There were voices in the small reception room,--the voice of Henri, the butler, and another. Reluctantly he turned away from the closed door and walked swiftly down the passage. He entered the reception room and looked around him in amazement. It was still in disorder. Lassen sat in an easy-chair with a tumbler of brandy by his side. Henri was tying a bandage around his head, his collar was torn, there were marks of blood about his shirt. Bellamy's eyes sparkled. He closed the door behind him.
"Come," he exclaimed, "after all, I fancy that my arrival is somewhat opportune!"
Henri turned towards him with a reproachful gesture.
"Monsieur Lassen has been unwell, Monsieur," he said. "He has had a fit and fallen down."
Bellamy laughed contemptuously.
"I think I can reconstruct the scene a little better than that," he declared. "What do you say, Mr. Lassen?"
The man glared at him viciously.
"I do not know what you are talking about," he said. "I do not wish to speak to you. I am ill. You had better go and persuade Mademoiselle to return. She is at Dover, waiting."
"You are a liar!" Bellamy answered. "She is in her room now, locked up--guarded, perhaps, by one of your creatures. I have been half-way to Dover, but I tumbled to your scheme in time, Mr. Lassen. You found our friend Laverick a trifle awkward, I fancy."
Lassen swore through his teeth but said nothing.
"From your somewhat dishevelled appearance," Bellamy continued, "I think I may conclude that you were not able to come to any amicable arrangement with Mademoiselle's visitor. He declined to accept you as her proxy, I imagine. Still, one must make sure."