Sometimes it seemed to him that he was an impostor: that Ruth believed him to be one Howard Spurlock, when he was only masquerading as Spurlock. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. Beyond was another door, on which was painted in black letters: MR. ” He shook his head, and threw open the door of a great dimly-lit apartment on the ground floor. From the first of these alighted Thames, or, as he must now be styled, the Marquis de Chatillon.
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