As she stepped into a street car she saw from afar, as in a vision, the
face of Reginald Clarke. It seemed very white and hungry. There was no
human kindness in it--only a threat and a sneer.




XXVI


For over an hour Ernest paced up and down his room, wildly excited by
Ethel's revelations. It required an immense amount of self-control for
him to pen the following lines to Jack: "I need you. Come."

After he had entrusted the letter to the hall-boy, a reaction set in and
he was able to consider the matter, if not with equanimity, at least
with a degree of calmness. The strangest thing to him was that he could
not bring himself to hate Reginald, of whose evil influence upon his
life he was now firmly convinced. Here was another shattered idol; but
one--like the fragment of a great god-face in the desert--intensely
fascinating, even in its ruin. Then yielding to a natural impulse,
Ernest looked over his photographs and at once laid hold upon the
austere image of his master and friend. No--it was preposterous; there
was no evil in this man. There was no trace of malice in this face, the
face of a prophet or an inspired madman, a poet. And yet, as he
scrutinised the picture closely a curious transformation seemed to take
place in the features; a sly little line appeared insinuatingly about
Reginald's well-formed mouth, and the serene calm of his Jupiter-head
seemed to turn into the sneak smile of a thief. Nevertheless, Ernest was