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And then, as if from a heart of agony, the woman at his side breathed a broken and tortured cry: "You dog! So it's come to murder, has it?" As if electrified by that ejaculation, P. Sybarite whipped up Penfield's revolver and levelled it at the man on the stairs. "Hands up!" he snapped. "Drop that gun!"
"Miss Marian 'asn't returned as yet from the ball," he whispered. "'E 'e's not quite 'imself, sir. 'E's 'ad a bit of a shock, as one might s'y. I'd go easy on 'im, if you'll take a word from me." But P. Sybarite traversed his advice without an instant's consideration. "Brian Shaynon," he called, "you lie!
It is because these gentlemen, chivalrous and honorable as they consider themselves, think that you, the beauty and the Sybarite, committed with your own white hand the deed of blood which has brought you freedom and fortune.
Touching her fingers, P. Sybarite raised his hat; but before he could utter the response ready upon his tongue, he was seized by the arm and swung rudely away from the door. I'll take charge of this gentleman!" In this speech an accent of irony inhered to exasperate P. Sybarite. Half a hundred people were looking on listening! Angrily he wrenched his arm free.
Violet and her George occupied adjoining chairs at another and smaller table. Their attendance was occasionally manifested through the medium of giggles and guffaws. P. Sybarite envied them: he had it in his heart to envy anybody young enough to be able to see a joke at that dinner table. By custom, the landlady relinquished her seat some minutes in advance of any guest.
Every appetite, every variety of whim, the cravings of the gourmet and the dreams of the sybarite, may be gratified to the utmost. A spendthrift might spend a handsome patrimony within these limits, nor, at the end of his time, would he call to mind a taste he had not been able to gratify. Sophonisba enters this charmed region of perfect shopping from the west.
And then I look at Rowley's licentious eye and cynical lip, and think to myself, 'This man's father perished on the scaffold; this man's lovely ancestress paid the penalty of her manifold treacheries after sixteen years' imprisonment; this man has passed through the jaws of death, has left his country a fugitive and a pauper, has returned as if by a miracle, carried back to a throne upon the hearts of his people; and behold him now saunterer, sybarite, sensualist strolling through life without one noble aim or one virtuous instinct; a King who traffics in the pride and honour of his country, and would sell her most precious possessions, level her strongest defences, if his cousin and patron t'other side the Channel would but bid high enough. But a plague on my tongue, dear lady, that it must always be wagging.
"Go on!" she commanded in menacing accents. He pulled the door open, flung out into the hallway, paused again at the mouth of the back pit of the stairway. Behind him the woman snapped a switch; an electric bulb glared out of the darkness. And P. Sybarite, peering down, started back with a gasp of amazement that was echoed in his ear.
Shaynon recollected himself with visible effort. "The man 's crazy," he muttered sickishly, rising. "I don't know what he 's talking about. Arrest him take him to the station-house why don't you?" "Who'll make the charge?" asked the detective, eyeing Shaynon without favour. "Not Bayard Shaynon!" P. Sybarite asseverated. "It's not my brooch," Shaynon asserted defensively.
But when it came to viscid second thought, alone in the gloom of an unsympathetic taxicab, P. Sybarite inclined to concede himself more ass than hero.
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