Laverick, in presenting his card at the box office at Covent Garden
that evening, did so without the slightest misconception of the reasons
which had prompted Mademoiselle Idiale to beg him to become her guest.
It was sheer curiosity which prompted him to pursue this adventure. He
was perfectly convinced that personally he had no interest for her. In
some way or other he had become connected in her mind with the murder
which had taken place within a few yards of his office, and in some
other equally mysterious manner that murder had become a subject of
interest to her. Either that, or this was one of the whims of a spoiled
and pleasure-surfeited woman.
He found an excellent box reserved for him, and a measure of courtesy
from the attendants not often vouchsafed to an ordinary visitor. The
opera was Samson and Delilah, and even before her wonderful voice
thrilled the house, it seemed to Laverick that no person more lovely
than the woman he had come to see had ever moved upon any stage. It
appeared impossible that movement so graceful and passionate should
remain so absolutely effortless. There seemed to be some strange power
inside the woman. Surely her will guided her feet! The necessity for
physical effort never once appeared. Notwithstanding the slight
prejudice which he had felt against her, it was impossible to keep his
admiration altogether in check. The fascination of her wonderful
presence, and then her glorious voice, moved him with the rest of the
audience. He clapped as the others did at the end of the first act, and
he leaned forward just as eagerly to catch a glimpse of her when she
reappeared and stood there with that marvelous smile upon her lips,
accepting with faint, deprecating gratitude the homage of the packed
house.
Just before the curtain rose upon the second act, there was a knock at
his box door. One of the attendants ushered in a short man of somewhat
remarkable personality. He was barely five feet in height, and an
extremely fat neck and a corpulent body gave him almost the appearance
of a hunchback. He had black, beady eyes, a black moustache fiercely
turned up, and sallow skin. His white gloves had curious stitchings on
the back not common in England, and his silk hat, exceedingly glossy,
had wider brims than are usually associated with Bond Street.
Laverick half rose, but the little man spread out one hand and
commenced to speak. His accent was foreign, but, if not an Englishman,
he at any rate spoke the language with confidence.
“My dear sir,” he began, “I owe you many apologies. It was Mademoiselle
Idiale’s wish that I should make your acquaintance. My name is Lassen.
I have the fortune to be Mademoiselle’s business manager.
“I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Lassen,” said Laverick. “Will you sit
down?”
Mr. Lassen thereupon hung his hat upon a peg, removed his overcoat,
straightened his white tie with the aid of a looking-glass, brushed
back his glossy black hair with the palms of his hands, and took the
seat opposite Laverick. His first question was inevitable.
“What do you think of the opera, sir?”
“It is like Mademoiselle Idiale herself,” Laverick answered. “It is
above criticism.”
“She is,” Mr. Lassen said firmly, “the loveliest woman in Europe and
her voice is the most wonderful. It is a great combination, this. I
myself have managed for many stars, I have brought to England most of
those whose names are known during the last ten years; but there has
never been another Louise Idiale,—never will be.”
“I can believe it,” Laverick admitted.
“She has wonderful qualities, too,” continued Mr. Lassen. “Your
acquaintance with her, I believe, sir, is of the shortest.”
“That is so,” Laverick answered, a little coldly. He was not
particularly taken with his visitor.
“Mademoiselle has spoken to me of you,” the latter proceeded. “She
desired that I should pay my respects during the performance.”
“It is very kind of you,” Laverick answered. “As a matter of fact, it
is exceedingly kind, also, of Mademoiselle Idiale to insist upon my
coming here to-night. She did me the honor, as you may know, of paying
me a visit in the city this morning.”
“So she did tell me,” Mr. Lassen declared. “Mademoiselle is a great
woman of business. Most of her investments she controls herself. She
has whims, however, and it never does to contradict her. She has also,
curiously enough, a preference for the men of affairs.”
Laverick had reached that stage when he felt indisposed to discuss
Mademoiselle any longer with a stranger, even though that stranger
should be her manager. He nodded and took up his programme. As he did
so, the curtain rang up upon the next act. Laverick turned deliberately
towards the stage. The little man had paid his respects, as he put it.
Laverick felt disinclined for further conversation with him. Yet,
though his head was turned, he knew very well that his companion’s eyes
were fixed upon him. He had an uncomfortable sense that he was an
object of more than ordinary interest to this visitor, that he had come
for some specific object which as yet he had not declared.
“You will like to go round and see Mademoiselle,” the latter remarked,
some time afterwards.
Laverick shook his head.
“I shall find another opportunity, I hope, to congratulate her.”
“But, my dear sir, she expects to see you,” Mr. Lassen protested. “You
are here at her invitation. It is usual, I can assure you.”
“Mademoiselle Idiale will perhaps excuse me,” Laverick said. “I have an
engagement immediately after the performance is over.”
His companion muttered something which Laverick could not catch, and
made some excuse to leave the box a few minutes later. When he
returned, he carried a little, note which he presented to Laverick with
an air of triumph.
“It is as I said!” he exclaimed. “Mademoiselle expects you.”
Laverick read the few lines which she had written.
I wish to see you after the performance. If you cannot come round or
escort me yourself, will you come later to the restaurant of Luigi,
where, as always, I shall sup. Do not fail.
LOUISE IDIALE.
Laverick placed the note in his waistcoat pocket without immediate
remark. Later on he turned to his companion.
“Will you tell Mademoiselle Idiale,” he said, “that I will do myself
the honor of coming to her at Luigi’s restaurant. I have an engagement
after the performance which I must keep.”
“You will certainly come?” Lassen asked anxiously.
“Without a doubt,” Laverick promised.
Mr. Lassen took up his hat...
“I will go and tell Mademoiselle. For some reason or other she seemed
particularly desirous of seeing you this evening. She has her whims,
and those who have most to do with her, like myself, find it well to
keep them gratified. If I do not see you again, sir, permit me to wish
you good evening.”
He disappeared with several bows of his pudgy little person, and
Laverick was left with another puzzle to solve. He was not in the least
conceited, and he did not for a moment misinterpret this woman’s
interest in him. Her invitation, he knew very well, was one which half
London would have coveted. Yet it meant nothing personal, he was sure
of that. It simply meant that for some mysterious reason, the same
reason which had prompted her to visit him in the city he was of
interest to her.
At a few minutes before eleven Laverick left the place and drove to the
stage-door of the Universal Theatre. Zoe came out among the first and
paused upon the threshold, looking up and down the street eagerly. When
she recognized him, her smile was heavenly.
“Oh, how nice of you!” she exclaimed, stepping at once into his
taxicab. “You don’t know how different it feels to hope that there is
some one waiting for you and then to find your hope come true. To-night
I was not sure. You had said nothing about it, and yet I could not help
believing that you would be here.”
“I was hoping,” he said, “that we might have another supper together.
Unfortunately, I have an engagement.”
“An engagement?” she repeated, her face falling.
Laverick loved the truth and he seldom hesitated to tell it.
“It is rather an odd thing,” he declared. “You remember that woman at
Luigi’s last night—Mademoiselle Idiale?”
“Of course.”
“She came to my office to-day and gave me six thousand pounds to invest
for her. She made me take her out and show her where the murder was
committed, and asked a great many questions about it. Then she insisted
that I should go and hear her sing this evening, and I find that I was
expected to take her on to supper afterwards. I excused myself for a
little while, but I have promised to go to Luigi’s, where she will be.”
The girl was silent for a moment.
“Where are we going now, then?” she asked.
“Wherever you like. I can take you home first, or I can leave you
anywhere.”
She looked at him with a piteous little smile.
“The last two nights you have spoiled me,” she said. “I have so many
evil thoughts and I am afraid to go home.”
“I am sorry. If I could think of anything or anywhere—”
“No, you must take me home, please,” said she. “It was selfish of me.
Only Mademoiselle Idiale is such a wonderful person. Do you think that
she will want you every night?”
“Of course not,” he laughed. “Come, I will make an engagement with you.
We will have supper together to-morrow evening.”
She brightened up at once.
“I wonder,” she asked timidly, a few minutes afterwards, “have you
heard anything from Arthur? He promised to send a telegram from
Queenstown.”
Laverick shook his head. He said nothing about the marconigram he had
sent, or the answer which he had received informing him that there was
no such person on board. It seemed scarcely worth while to worry her.
“I have heard nothing,” he replied. “Of course, he must be half-way to
America by now.”
“There have been no more inquiries about him?” she asked.
“No more than the usual ones from his friends, and a few creditors. The
latter I am paying as they come. But there is one thing you ought to do
with me. I think we ought to go to his rooms and lock up his papers and
letters. He never even went back, you know, after that night.”
She nodded thoughtfully.
“When would you like to do this?”
“I am so busy just now that I am afraid I can spare no time until
Monday afternoon. Would you go with me then?”
“Of course... My time is my own. We have no matinee, and I have nothing
to do except in the evening.”
They had reached her home. It looked very dark and very uninviting. She
shivered as she took her latchkey from the bag which she was carrying.
“Come in with me, please, while I light the gas,” she begged. “It looks
so dreary, doesn’t it?”
“You ought to have some one with you,” he declared, “especially in a
part like this.”
“Oh, I am not really afraid,” she answered. “I am only lonely.”
He stood in the passage while she felt for a box of matches and lit the
gas jet. In the parlor there was a bowl of milk standing waiting for
her, and some bread.
“Thank you so much,” she said. “Now I am going to make up the fire and
read for a short time. I hope that you will enjoy your supper—well,
moderately,” she added, with a little laugh.
“I can promise you,” he answered, “that I shall enjoy it no more than
last night’s or to-morrow night’s.”
She sighed.
“Poor little me!” she exclaimed. “It is not fair to have to compete
with Mademoiselle Idiale. Good night!”
Something he saw in her eyes moved him strangely as he turned away.
“Would you like me,” he asked hesitatingly, “supposing I get away
early—would you like me to come in and say good night to you later on?”
Her face was suddenly flushed with joy.
“Oh, do!” she begged. “Do!”
He turned away with a smile.
“Very well,” he said. “Don’t shut up just yet and I will try.”
“I shall stay here until three o’clock,” she declared,—“until four,
even. You must come. Remember, you must come. See.”
She held out to him her key.
“I can knock at the door,” he protested. “You would hear me.”
“But I might fall asleep,” she answered. “I am afraid. If you have the
key, I am sure that you will come.”
He put it in his waistcoat pocket with a laugh.
“Very well,” he said, “if it is only for five minutes, I will come.”