"I am one, Matt! I've given your show
away."
"My show away! Why, what the deuce do you mean?"
In a string of broken sentences Curtis explained what had happened.
"I'm damned sorry, Matt, old man," he pleaded. "It was the drink that
did it--I didn't know what I was saying till it was too late--till I
saw Leon's face--and that cleared my brain--brought me to myself. It
was hellish. I remember the moment I mentioned the word marriage--he
sprang up from his chair, and as he hurried out, I heard him mutter,
'I'll go to her straight--I'll--' Matt, old man, he meant mischief.
I'm certain of it. Come with me to her flat--for God's sake--COME."
And catching hold of Kelson, who leaned against the mantelshelf, dazed
and stupefied, he dragged him into the street.
To revert to Hamar. Curtis's information had transformed him. He was,
now, another creature. Prior to his conversation with Curtis, he had
suspected, at the most, that Kelson might be contemplating a secret
engagement to Lilian Rosenberg--but a hasty marriage--a marriage in a
few days' time--he had never dreamt that Kelson could be as mad as
that. It was outrageous! It was abominable! It was sheer wholesale
homicide! At all costs the marriage must be stopped. And mad with
rage, Hamar dashed out of the hotel, and calling a taxi, drove direct
to Lilian Rosenberg's flat.
He found her alone--alone--and with a strange expression in her
eyes--an expression he had never noticed in them before.
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