He left the next morning in a dense fog.  As Larsing rowed him across the lake he could not see its surface nor the wall of trees on the opposite bank, and in a moment the camp was obliterated.

Only Gora and Larsing knew of his departure.  Even Dinwiddie was still asleep.  Larsing had made him a cup of coffee, and Gora had packed his bag, moving like a mouse in his room.  She kissed him good-bye and patted him on the back.

“I’ll go out myself in a day or two,” she said.  “You may need me down there.”

The fog thinned gradually and the Ford made its usual comfortless speed down the mountain.  When they reached Huntersville the valley was bathed in early morning sunlight, and Huntersville, asleep, shared the evanescent charm of the dawn.  It was a beautiful and a peaceful scene and Clavering, whose spirits had descended into utter gloom while enwrapped in that sinister fog, accepted it as a happier portent; and when he was so fortunate as to find an empty drawing-room on the Express, he went to bed and slept until the porter awoke him at Tarrytown.

It was his first impulse to rush direct to Murray Hill, but he knew the folly of doing anything of the sort.  He needed a bath and a shave and a fortifying dinner.

He concluded that it would be unwise to telephone, and at nine o’clock he approached her house, reasonably calm and quite determined to have his own way.  But the house was dark from cellar to roof.  Every window was closed although it was a warm night.  He sprang up the steps and rang the bell.  He rang again, and then kept his finger on the button for nearly five minutes.

He descended into the area, but the iron bars were new, and immovable.  Moreover, a policeman was sauntering opposite.  He approached the man in a moment and asked him if he knew whether the house had been open earlier in the evening.  Yes, the officer told him, he had seen one of the servants go in about half an hour ago.

Clavering walked away slowly.  If Mary had gone to Washington, why had the servants not answered his ring?  It was too early for them to be in bed.  Then his spirits, which had descended to zero, rose jubilantly.  Hohenhauer!  It was against him she was barricading herself.  No doubt she would feel herself in a state of siege as long as the man remained in the country.

He went to the nearest hotel and telephoned.  He was prepared to be told, after an interminable wait, that there was “no answer”; but in a moment he heard the voice of the butler.  Obeying a sudden impulse he disguised his own.

“I should like to speak to Madame Zattiany.”

“Madame has retired.”

He hung up.  He had ascertained that she was at home and his spiritual barometer ascended another notch.  He’d see her tomorrow if he spent the day on her doorstep.  He bought an evening paper, picked out a new play, and spent a very agreeable evening at the theatre.