MR. GROGAN MEETS A LADY
There was a fashionable wedding on the Monday at St. George’s,
Hanover Square. A queue of motor-cars and broughams stretched in all
directions and lined both sides of the streets and partly filled
Hanover Square.
Amongst those present, as they say, was Mr. Frederick Grogan. Flash
Fred had not been invited, for two reasons. In the first place, the
friends of bride and bridegroom did not know him, and in the second
place he would not have been invited if they had. But a little thing
like an invitation did not worry Fred. He knew that when the family of
the bride and the bridegroom were meeting for the first time and were
regarding one another with mutual suspicion and deprecation, and when
all sorts of obscure cousins emerged from the oblivion which happily
covered them and were not even recognizable to the principal actors in
the great drama, that a face such as his, and a smartly tailored
figure such as he possessed, would pass muster and gain for him a
prominent seat. So he arrived at St. George’s in a glossy silk hat,
white kid gloves, and perfectly pressed trousers, and made his way up
the aisle, where he was mistaken for the bridegroom.
He had not come because he wished to break into society, but because
it was a fashion for women to wear their precious jewels in the early
hours of the morning at such functions as these. He had no particular
piece of villainy in view. He was merely surveying the land as a good
general might survey a possible battlefield.
Marriages did not interest him. He regarded them as superfluous
ceremonies indulged in by the idle rich and the hopeless bourgeoisie.
The ceremony, which was long, bored him to extinction, and he heartily
regretted having taken so prominent a place and being prevented, in
consequence, from stealing gently out, or from watching the people who
were in his rear. At last the service ended, the organ pealed a
triumphant note, and the bride and bridegroom, looking extremely
ashamed of themselves, proceeded solemnly down the aisle, and Fred
fell in, in the ranks of the near and dear, and came out on to the
steps.
He was wondering whether it would be politic or advisable to go on to
the reception, having discovered where that reception would be held,
when somebody touched his arm, and he turned quickly.
“Hallo, Dr. Judd!” he said, relieved, “I thought it was that fellow
Holt. He follows me about until he’s got on my nerves.”
Dr. Judd, a fine figure of a man in his morning dress, was eyeing him
sternly.
“You told me you were going to Nice,” he said.
“I missed the train,” replied Fred glibly, “and my pal went on without
me. I’m staying over for a few days and then I hope to get away.”
Dr. Judd was thoughtful.
“Walk a little way along with me,” he said. “I want to talk to you.”
They walked without speaking a word to one another into Hanover
Square, and turned toward Bond Street.
“You are getting on my nerves, Mr. Grogan,” said Dr. Judd. “At least I
thought I had the satisfaction of knowing that you were taking
abnormal risks on the continent of Europe. Instead I find you living a
fashionable life in Jermyn Street.”
“I thought you said you didn’t know I was still here?” asked Fred
quickly.
“I said nothing of the sort,” replied the calm doctor, “I merely
remarked that I thought you had said you were going to Nice.”
“Oh, you knew I was here, then,” said Fred.
“I had heard you were here,” said Dr. Judd. “Now, Mr. Grogan, don’t
you think you and I should effect some sort of compromise?”
Fred was all ears.
“In what way?” he asked cautiously.
“Suppose,” said Dr. Judd, “I gave you a lump sum down on condition
that you did not bother me again?”
Nothing better suited Fred’s plans. Supposing the sum were a
reasonable one, he would be saved the bother and anxiety of a
burglary. Or he might even add that relaxation to swell his profits.
“I’m agreeable,” he said, after a reasonable pause, and Dr. Judd eyed
him seriously.
“You will have to keep faith with me,” he said. “I do not intend
parting with £12,000----”
“Twelve thousand pounds!” said Fred quickly. “Yes, that seems a nice
tidy sum.”
“I repeat,” said the doctor, “I do not intend parting with that sum
unless I have a guarantee that you will not molest me again. Will you
dine with me at my house in Chelsea to-morrow night at eight o’clock?”
Fred nodded.
“There will be a few people to dinner,” said the doctor, “but nobody
who knows you, and I must ask as a personal favour that you will not
endeavour to follow up any acquaintance you make to-morrow night.”
“Don’t you think I am too much of a gentleman to do that sort of
thing?” asked Fred, virtuously indignant.
“I don’t,” said the doctor shortly, and parted from him at the corner
of Bond Street.
Twelve thousand pounds! That was a most admirable arrangement, and
Fred, whose funds were getting low, trod on air as he strolled down
Old Bond Street toward Piccadilly.
In his exaltation, when his generous soul had swollen, and his whole
mental system was experiencing the sensation of largeness, he saw a
girl on the opposite side of the road. Hers was not a face to be
forgotten. He had seen it once under an electric light between St.
Martin’s and the Strand, and he increased his pace, crossing the road
and following behind her, not, however, without an anxious glance
behind him. For once Larry Holt was invisible.
“It could not have happened better,” said Fred, for he was sensible of
his fine appearance.
He overtook her at the corner of Piccadilly and raised his hat with a
smile, and for a moment Diana was under the impression that she knew
this stranger and her hand was halfway up when he made the mistake of
repeating that fashionable formula:
“Haven’t you and I met before somewhere?”
She drew her hand back.
“My dear,” said Fred, “you’re the most wonderful thing in the world,
and I simply want to know you!”
This, too, was part of the formula and had been effective on many
occasions.
“Then you had better call on me,” she said, and Flash Fred scarcely
believed his good fortune.
She opened the little leather bag she carried and took out a card,
scribbling a number.
“A million thanks!” said Fred elegantly as he took the card. “I’ll
give you mine in a minute. Now what about a little dinner----” He
lifted the card and read: “Miss Diana Ward--a beautiful name,” he
said. “Diana! Room 47,” and then his face underwent a change.
“Scotland Yard!” he said hollowly.
“Yes, I am with Mr. Larry Holt,” she said sweetly, and Fred swallowed
something.
“If he ain’t here you’re here, and if you’re not here he’s here,” he
said savagely. “Why can’t you leave a gentleman alone?”