Was Quarrier going to escape again?
Was he going to get out of the house before-- Fumbling with his latch-key, but with sense enough left to make no noise, he let himself in, passed silently through the reception-hall and up to the drawing-room floor, where for a second he stood listening.
Then something of the perverted sportsman sent the blood quivering into his veins.

He had him! He had run him down! The game was at bay.
An inrush of exhilaration steadied him.

He laid his hand on the banister and mounted, gloves and hat-brim crushed in the other hand.

When he entered the room he pretended to see only Lydia.
"Hello, little girl!" he said, laughing, "are you surprised to--" At that moment he caught sight of Quarrier, and the start he gave was genuine enough.

Never had he seen in a man's visage such white concentration of anger.
"Quarrier!" he stammered, for his acting was becoming real enough to supplant art.
Quarrier had risen; his narrowing eyes moved from Mortimer to Lydia, then reverted to the man in the combination.
"Rather unexpected, isn't it ?" said Mortimer, staring at Quarrier.
"Is it ?" returned Quarrier in a low voice.
"I suppose so," sneered Mortimer.