Molly Holderness, for whom Graham's absence possessed, perhaps, more
significance than the others, relapsed very soon into a strained and
anxious silence. Pamela and Lutchester, on the other hand, divided
their attention between a very excellent luncheon and an even flow of
personal, almost inquisitorial conversation.
"You will find," Pamela warned her companion almost as they took their
places, "that I am a very curious person. I am more interested in
people than in events. Tell me something about your work at the War
Office?"
"I am not at the War Office," he replied.
"Well, what is it that you do, then?" she asked. "Captain Holderness
told me that you had been out in France, fighting, but that you had
some sort of official position at home now."
"I am at the Ministry of Munitions," he explained.
"Well, tell me about that, then?" she suggested. "Is it as exciting as
fighting?"
He shook his head.
"It has advantages," he admitted, "but I should scarcely say that
excitement figured amongst them."
She looked at him thoughtfully. Lutchester was a little over
thirty-five years of age, tall and of sinewy build. His colouring was
neutral, his complexion inclined to be pale, his mouth straight and
firm, his grey eyes rather deep-set. Without possessing any of the
stereotyped qualifications, he was sufficiently good-looking.
"I wonder you didn't prefer soldiering," she observed.
He smiled for a moment, and Pamela felt unreasonably annoyed at the
twinkle in his eyes.
"I am not a soldier by profession," he said, "but I went out with the
Expeditionary Force and had a year of it. They kept me here, after a
slight wound, to take up my old work again."
"Your old work," she repeated. "I didn't know there was such a thing as
a Ministry of Munitions before the war."
He deliberately changed the conversation, directing Pamela's attention
to the crowded condition of the room.
"Gay scene, isn't it?" he remarked.
"Very!" she assented drily.
"Do you come here to dance?" he inquired.
She shook her head.
"You must remember that I have been living in Paris for some months,"
she told him. "You won't be annoyed if I tell you that the way you
English people are taking the war simply maddens me. Your young
soldiers talk about it as though it were a sort of picnic, your
middle-aged clubmen seem to think that it was invented to give them a
fresh interest in their newspapers, and the rest of you seem to think
of nothing but the money you are making. And Paris.... No, I don't
think I should care to dance here!"
Lutchester nodded, but Pamela fancied somehow or other that his
attitude was not wholly sympathetic. His tone, with its slight note of
admonition, irritated her.
"You must be careful," he said, "not to be too much misled by
externals."
Pamela opened her lips for a quick reply, but checked herself.
Captain Holderness and Ferrani had entered the room and were
approaching their table, talking earnestly. The latter especially was
looking perplexed and anxious.
"It's the queerest thing I ever knew," Holderness pronounced. "We've
searched every hole and corner upstairs, and there isn't a sign of
Sandy."
"Have you tried the bar?" Lutchester inquired.
"Both the bar and the grillroom," Ferrani assured him.
"If he had been suddenly taken ill--" Molly murmured.
"But there is no place in which he could have been taken ill which we
have not searched," Ferrani reminded her.
"And besides," Holderness intervened, "Sandy was in the very pink of
health, and bubbling over with high-spirits."
"One noticed that," Lutchester remarked, a little drily.
"He might almost have been called garrulous," Pamela agreed.
Ferrani took grave leave of them, and Holderness seated himself at the
table.
"Well, let's get on with luncheon, anyway," he advised. "It's no good
bothering. The best thing we can do is to conclude that the impossible
has happened--that Sandy has met with some pals and will be here
presently."
"Or possibly," Lutchester suggested, "that he has done what certainly
seems the most reasonable thing--gone straight off to the War Office
with his formula and forgotten all about us. Let us return the
compliment and forget all about him."
They finished their luncheon a little more cheerfully. As the
cigarettes were handed round, Pamela's eyes looked longingly at a tray
of Turkish coffee which was passing.
"I'm a rotten host," Holderness declared, "but, to tell you the truth,
this queer prank of Sandy's has driven everything else out of my mind.
Here, Hassan!"
The coloured man in gorgeous oriental livery turned at once with a
smile. He approached the table, bowing to each of them in turn. Pamela
watched him intently, and, as his eyes met hers, Hassan's hands began
to shake.
"The waiter is bringing us ordinary coffee," Holderness explained.
"Please countermand it and bring us Turkish coffee for four."
The man had lost his savoir faire. His wonderful smile had turned into
something sickly, his bland speech of thanks into a mumble. He turned
away almost sheepishly.
"Hassan doesn't seem to like us to-day," Molly remarked.
"I should have said that he was drunk," her brother observed, looking
after him curiously.
There was certainly something the matter with Hassan, for it was at
least a quarter of an hour before he reappeared and served his
specially prepared concoction with the usual ceremony but with more
restraint. Molly and the two men, after Hassan had sprinkled the
contents of his mysterious little flask into their coffee, gave him
their hands for the customary salute. When he came to Pamela he
hesitated. She shook her head and he fell back, bowing respectfully,
his hand tracing cabalistic signs across his heart. For a moment before
he departed, he raised his eyes and glanced at her. It was like the
mute appeal of some hurt or frightened animal.
"You don't approve of Hassan's little ceremony?" Lutchester asked her.
She shrugged her shoulders.
"In America," she observed, "I think we look upon coloured people of
any sort a little differently. Well, we've certainly given your friend
a chance," she went on, glancing at the little jewelled watch upon her
wrist, "We've outstayed almost every one here."
Their host paid the bill, and they strolled reluctantly towards the
door, Holderness and Pamela a few steps behind.
"Now what are your sister and Mr. Lutchester studying again?" the
latter inquired, as they reached the lobby.
Molly had paused once more before the notice on the wall, which seemed
somehow to have fascinated her. She read it out, lingering on every
word:
MEFIEZ-VOUS!
TAISEZ-VOUS!
LES OREILLES ENNEMIES VOUS
ECOUTENT!
Holderness listened with a frown. Then he turned suddenly to
Lutchester, who was standing by his side.
"It would be too ridiculous, wouldn't it--you couldn't in any way
connect the idea behind that notice with Sandy's disappearance?"
"I was wondering about that myself," Lutchester confessed. "To tell you
the truth, I have been wondering all luncheon-time. If ever a man broke
the letter and the spirit of that simple warning I should say your
excitable young friend, Captain Graham, did."
"But here at Henry's," Holderness protested, "with friends on every
side! Isn't it a little too ridiculous! We'll wait until the last
person is out of the place, anyway," he added.
The crowd soon began to thin. Ferrani, seeing them still waiting,
approached with a little bow.
"Your friend," he asked, "he has not arrived, eh?"
"No sign of him," Holderness replied gloomily.
"What about his hat and coat?" Ferrani inquired, with a sudden
inspiration.
"Great idea," Holderness assented, turning towards the cloakroom
attendant. "Don't you remember my friend, James?" he went on. "He
arrived about half-past one, and threw his coat and hat over to you."
The attendant nodded and glanced towards an empty peg.
"I remember him quite well, sir," he acknowledged. "Number sixty-seven
was his number."
"Where are his things, then?"
"Gone, sir," the man replied.
"Do you remember his asking for them?"
The attendant shook his head.
"Can't say that I do, sir," he acknowledged, "but they've gone right
enough."
A party of outgoing guests claimed the man's attention. Holderness
turned away.
"This thing is getting on my nerves," he declared. "Does it seem likely
that Sandy should chuck his luncheon without a word of explanation,
come out and get his coat and hat and walk off? And, besides, where was
he all the time we were looking for him?"
It was unanswerable, inexplicable. They all looked at one another
almost helplessly. Pamela held out her hand.
"Well," she announced, "I am sorry, but I'm afraid that I must go. I
have a great many things to attend to this afternoon."
"You are going away soon?" Lutchester inquired.
She hesitated, and at that moment Mr. Fischer, who had been saying
farewell to his guests, turned towards her.
"You are not thinking of the trip home yet, Miss Van Teyl?" he asked.
"Oh, I don't know," she answered a little evasively. "I'm out of humour
with London just now."
"Perhaps we shall be fellow-passengers on Thursday?" he ventured. "I am
going over on the _New York_."
"I never make plans," she told him.
"In any case," Mr. Fischer continued, "I shall anticipate our early
meeting in New York. I heard from your brother only yesterday."
She looked at him with a slight frown.
"From James?"
Mr. Fischer nodded.
"Why, I didn't know," she observed, "that you and he were acquainted."
"I have had large transactions with his firm, and naturally I have seen
a good deal of Mr. Van Teyl," the other explained. "He looks after the
interests of us Western clients."
Pamela turned a little abruptly away, and Lutchester walked with her to
the door.
"You will let me see that they bring your car round?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"Thank you, no," she replied, holding out her hand. "I have not yet
said good-by to Captain Holderness and his sister. Good-by, Mr.
Lutchester!"
Her farewell was purposely chilly. It seemed as though the slight
sparring in which they had indulged throughout luncheon-time, had found
its culmination in an antipathy which she had no desire to conceal.
Lutchester, however, only smiled.
"Nowadays," he observed, "that is a word which it is never necessary to
use."
She withdrew her hand from his somewhat too tenacious clasp. Something
in his manner puzzled as well as irritated her.
"Do you mean that you, too, are thinking of taking a holiday from your
strenuous labours?" she asked. "Perhaps America is the safest country
in the world just now for an Englishman who--"
She stopped short, realising the lengths towards which her causeless
pique was carrying her.
"Prefers departmental work to fighting, were you going to add?" he said
quietly. "Well, perhaps you are right. At any rate, I will content
myself by saying au revoir."
He passed through the turnstile door and disappeared. Pamela made her
adieux to Holderness and his sister, and then, recognising some
acquaintances, turned back into the restaurant to speak to them.
Fischer, who had just received his hat and cane from the cloakroom
attendant, stood watching her.