Pritchard came to a standstill at a certain
point, and stooping down looked through. He remained there
without moving for what seemed to Tavernake an extraordinarily
long time. When he stood up again, there was a distinct change
in his face. He was looking more serious than Tavernake had ever
seen him. But for the improbability of the thing, Tavernake
would have thought that he had turned pale.
"My young friend," he said, "you've got to see me through this.
You 've a sort of fancy for Mrs. Wenham Gardner, I know.
To-night you shall be on her side."
"I don't want any more mysteries," Tavernake protested. "I'd
rather go home."
"It can't be done," Pritchard declared, taking his arm once more.
"You've got to see me through this. Come up to my rooms for a
minute."
They entered the Court and ascended to the eighth floor.
Pritchard turned on the lights in his room, a plainly furnished
and somewhat bare apartment. From a cupboard he took out a pair
of rubber-soled shoes and threw them to Tavernake.
"Put those on," he directed.
"What are we going to do?" Tavernake asked.
"You are going to help me," Pritchard answered. "Take my word
for it, Tavernake, it's all right. I could tackle the job alone,
but I'd rather not. Now drink this whiskey and soda and light a
cigarette. I shall be ready in five minutes."
"But where are we going?" Tavernake demanded.
"You are going," Pritchard replied, "on an errand of chivalry.
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