And as he thought upon the careful planning of that crime, and remembered Wethermill's easy chatter as they had strolled from table to table in the Villa des Fleurs, Ricardo shuddered.

Though he encouraged a taste for the bizarre, it was with an effort.

He was naturally of an orderly mind, and to touch the eerie or inhuman caused him a physical discomfort.

So now he marvelled in a great uneasiness at the calm placidity with which Wethermill had talked, his arm in his, while the load of so dark a crime to be committed within the hour lay upon his mind.

Each minute he must have been thinking, with a swift spasm of the heart, "Should such a precaution fail--should such or such an unforeseen thing intervene," yet there had been never a sign of disturbance, never a hint of any disquietude.
Then Ricardo's thoughts turned as he tossed upon his bed to Celia Harland, a tragic and a lonely figure.