The weather was still torrid, but with the night had come a breeze to fan the hot cheek of London.

It gently stirred his curtains; rustled the papers on his desk.
He considered.

Should he at once make known the eminently respectable person he was, the hopelessly respectable people he knew?
Hardly! For then, on the instant, like a bubble bursting, would go for good all mystery and romance, and the lady of the grapefruit would lose all interest and listen to him no more.

He spoke solemnly to his rustling curtains.
"No," he said.

"We must have mystery and romance.