Laverick, sitting with Zoe at dinner, caught his companion looking
around the restaurant with an expression in her face which he did not
wholly understand.
“Something is the matter with you this evening, Zoe,” he said
anxiously. “Tell me what it is. You don’t like this place, perhaps?”
“Of course I do.”
“It is your dinner, then, or me?” he persisted. “Come, out with it.
Haven’t we promised to tell each other the truth always?”
The pink color came slowly into her cheeks. Her eyes, raised for a
moment to his, were almost reproachful.
“You know very well that it is not anything to do with you,” she
whispered. “You are too kind to me all the time. Only,” she went on, a
little hesitatingly, “don’t you realize—can’t you see how differently
most of the girls here are dressed? I don’t mind so much for myself—but
you—you have so many friends. You keep on seeing people whom you know.
I am afraid they will think that I ought not to be here.”
He looked at her in surprise, mingled, perhaps, with compunction. For
the first time he appreciated the actual shabbiness of her clothes.
Everything about her was so neat—pathetically neat, as it seemed to him
in one illuminating moment of realization. The white linen collar,
notwithstanding its frayed edges, was spotlessly clean. The black bow
was carefully tied to conceal its worn parts. Her gloves had been
stitched a good many times. Her gown, although it was tidy, was
old-fashioned and had distinctly seen its best days. He suddenly
recognized the effort—the almost despairing effort—which her toilette
had cost her.
“I don’t think that men notice these things,” he said simply. “To me
you look just as you should look—and I wouldn’t change places with any
other man in the room for a great deal.”
Her eyes were soft—perilously soft—as she looked at him with uplifted
eyebrows and a faint smile struggling at the corners of her lips. A
wave of tenderness crept into his heart. What a brave little child she
was!
“You will quite spoil me if you make such nice speeches,” she murmured.
“Anyhow,” he went on, speaking with decision, “so long as you feel like
that, you are going to have a new gown—or two—and a new hat, and you
are going to have them at once. They are going to be bought with your
brother’s money, mind. Shall I come shopping with you?”
She shook her head.
“Mind, it is partly for your sake that I give in,” she said. “It would
be lovely to have you come, but you would spend far too much money. You
really mean it all?”
“Absolutely,” he answered. “I insist upon it.”
She leaned towards him with dancing eyes. After all, she was very much
of a child. The prospect of a new gown, now that she permitted herself
to think of it, was enthralling.
“I might get a coat and skirt,” she remarked thoughtfully, “and a
simple white dress. A black hat would do for both of them, then.”
“Don’t you study your brother too much,” Laverick declared. “His stock
is going up all the time.”
“Tell me your favorite color,” she begged confidentially.
“I can’t conceive your looking nicer than you do in black,” he replied.
She made a wry face.
“I suppose it must be black,” she murmured doubtfully. “It is much more
economical than anything—”
She broke off to bow to a stout, red-faced man who, after a rude stare,
had greeted her with a patronizing nod. Laverick frowned.
“Who is that fellow?” he asked.
“Mr. Heepman, our stage-manager,” Zoe answered, a little timidly.
“Is there any particular reason why he should behave like a boor?”
Laverick continued, raising his voice a little.
She caught at his arm in terror. The man was sitting at the next table.
“Don’t, please!” she implored. “He might hear you. He is just behind
there.”
Laverick half turned in his chair. She guessed what he was about to
say, and went on rapidly.
“He has been so foolish,” she whispered. “He has asked me so often to
go out with him. And he could get me sent away, if he wanted, any time.
He almost threatened it, the last time I refused. Now that he has seen
me with you, he will be worse than ever.”
Laverick’s face darkened, and there was a peculiar flash in his eyes.
The man was certainly looking at them in a rude manner.
“There are so many of the girls who would only be too pleased to go
with him,” Zoe continued, in a terrified undertone. “I can’t think why
he bothers me.”
“I can,” Laverick muttered. “Let’s forget about the brute.”
But the dinner was already spoiled for Zoe, so Laverick paid the bill a
few minutes later, and walked across to the stage-door of the theatre
with her. Her little hand, when she gave it to him at parting, was
quite cold.
“I’m as nervous as I can be,” she confessed. “Mr. Heepman will be
watching all the night for something to find fault with me about.”
“Don’t you let him bully you,” Laverick begged.
“I won’t,” she promised. “Good-bye! Thanks so much for my dinner.”
She turned away with a brave attempt at a smile, but it was only an
attempt. Laverick walked on to his club. There was no one in the
dining-room whom he knew, and the card-room was empty. He played one
game of billiards, but he played badly. He was upset. His nerves were
wrong he told himself, and little wonder. There seemed to be no chance
of a rubber at bridge, so he sallied out again and walked aimlessly
towards Covent Garden. Outside the Opera House he hesitated and finally
entered, yielding to an impulse the nature of which he scarcely
recognized. While he was inquiring about a stall, a small printed
notice was thrust into his hand. He read it with a slight start.
We regret to announce that owing to indisposition Mademoiselle Idiale
will not be able to appear this evening. The part of Delilah will be
taken by Mademoiselle Blanche Temoigne, late of the Royal Opera House,
St. Petersburg.
Ten minutes later, Laverick rang the bell of her flat in Dover Street.
A strange man-servant answered him.
“I came to inquire after Mademoiselle Idiale,” Laverick said.
The man held out a tray on which was already a small heap of cards.
Laverick, however, retained his.
“I should be glad if you would take mine in to her,” he said. “I think
it is just likely that she may see me for a moment.”
The servant’s attitude was one of civil but unconcealed hostility. He
would have closed the door had not Laverick already passed over the
threshold.
“Madame is not well enough to receive visitors, sir,” the man declared.
“She shall have your card as soon as possible.”
“I should like her to have it now,” Laverick persisted, drawing a
five-pound note from his pocket.
The man looked at the note longingly.
“It would be only waste of time, sir,” he declared. “Mademoiselle is
confined to her bedroom and my orders are absolute.”
“You are not the man who was here earlier in the day,” Laverick
remarked. “I wonder,” he continued, with a sudden inspiration, “whether
you are not Mr. Bellamy’s servant?”
“That is so, sir. Mr. Bellamy has sent me here to see that no one has
access to Mademoiselle Idiale.”
“Then there is no harm whatever in taking in my card,” Laverick
declared convincingly. “You can put that note in your pocket. I am
perfectly certain that Mademoiselle Idiale will see me, and that your
master would wish her to do so.”
“I will take the risk, sir,” the man decided, “but the orders I have
received were stringent.”
He disappeared and was gone for several moments. When he came back he
was accompanied by a pale-faced woman dressed in black, obviously a
maid.
“Monsieur Laverick,” she said, “Mademoiselle Idiale will receive you.
If you will come this way?”
She opened the door of the little reception-room, and Laverick followed
her. The man returned to his place in the hall.
“Madame will be here in a moment,” the maid said. “She will be glad to
see you, but she has been very badly frightened.”
Laverick bowed sympathetically. The woman herself was gray-faced,
terror-stricken.
“It is Monsieur Lassen, the manager of Madame, who has caused a great
deal of trouble here,” she said. “Madame never trusted him and now we
have discovered that he is a spy.”
The woman seemed to fade away. The door of the inner room was opened
and Louise came out. She was still exceedingly pale, and there were
dark rims under her eyes. She came across the room with outstretched
hands. There was no doubt whatever as to her pleasure.
“You have seen Mr. Bellamy?” she asked.
Laverick shook his head.
“No, I have seen nothing of Bellamy to-day. I came to call upon you
this afternoon.”
She wrung her hands.
“You understand, of course!” she exclaimed. “I did not trust Lassen,
but I never imagined anything like this. He is an Austrian. Only a few
hours ago I learned that he is one of their most heavily paid spies.
Streuss got hold of him. But there, I forgot—you do not understand
this. It is enough that he laid a plot to get that document from you.
Where is it, Mr. Laverick? You have brought it now?”
“Why, no,” Laverick answered, “I have not.”
Her eyes were round with terror. She held out her hands as though to
keep away some tormenting thought.
“Where is it?” she cried. “You have not parted with it?
“I have not,” Laverick replied gravely. “It is in the safe deposit of a
hotel to which I have moved.”
She closed her eyes and drew a long breath of relief.
“You are not well,” Laverick said. “Let me help you to a chair.”
She sat down wearily.
“Why have you moved to a hotel?” she asked.
“To tell you the truth,” Laverick answered, “I seem to have wandered
into a sort of modern Arabian Nights. Three times to-day attempts have
been made to get that document from me by force. I have been followed
whereever I went. I felt that it was not safe in my chambers, so I
moved to a hotel and deposited it in their strong-room. I have come to
the conclusion that the best thing I can do is to open it to-morrow
morning, and decide for myself as to its destination.”
Louise sat quite still for several moments. Then she opened her eyes.
“What you say is an immense relief to me, Mr. Laverick,” she declared.
“I perceive now that we have made a mistake. We should have told you
the whole truth from the first. This afternoon when Mr. Bellamy left
me, it was to come to you and tell you everything.”
Laverick listened gravely.
“Really,” he said, “it seems to me the wisest course. I haven’t the
least desire to keep the document. I cannot think why Bellamy did not
treat me with confidence from the first—”
He stopped short. Suddenly he understood. Something in Louise’s face
gave him the hint.
“Of course!” he murmured to himself.
“Mr. Laverick,” Louise said quietly, “in this matter I am no man’s
judge, yet, as you and I know well, that paper could have come into
your hands in one way, and one way only. There may be some explanation.
If so, it is for you to offer it or not, as you think best. Mr. Bellamy
and I are allies in this matter. It is not our business to interfere
with the course of justice. You will run no risk in parting with that
paper.
“Where can I see Bellamy?” Laverick Inquired, rising and taking up his
hat.
“He would go straight to your rooms,” she answered. “Did you leave word
there where you had gone?”
“Purposely I did not,” Laverick replied. “I had better try and find
him, perhaps.”
“It is not necessary,” she announced. “No wonder that you feel yourself
to have wandered into the Arabian Nights, Mr. Laverick. There are two
sets of spies who follow you everywhere—two sets that I know of. There
may be another.”
“You think that Bellamy will find me?” he asked.
“I am sure of it.”
“Then I’ll go back to the hotel and wait.”
She hurried him away, but at the door she detained him for a moment.
“Mr. Laverick,” she said, looking at him earnestly, “somehow or other I
cannot help believing that you are an honest man.”
Laverick sighed. He opened his lips but closed them again.
“You are very kind, Mademoiselle,” he declared simply.
Laverick, as he entered the reception hall at the Milan Hotel, noticed
a man leaning over the cashier’s desk talking confidentially to the
clerk in charge. The latter recognized Laverick with obvious relief,
and at once directed his questioner’s attention to him. Kahn turned
swiftly around and without a moment’s hesitation came smiling towards
Laverick with the apparent intention of accosting him. He was correctly
garbed, tall and fair, with every appearance of being a man of
breeding. He glanced at Laverick carelessly as he passed, but, as
though changing his original purpose, made no attempt to address him.
The cashier, who had been watching, gave vent to a little exclamation
of surprise and sprang over the counter. He approached Laverick
hastily.
“Do you know that gentleman just going out, sir?” he asked.
“I never saw him before in my life,” Laverick answered. “Why?”
“Is this your handwriting, sir?” the man inquired, touching with his
forefinger the half sheet of note-paper which he had been carrying.
Laverick read quickly,—
To the Cashier at the Milan Hotel,—Deliver to bearer document deposited
with you.
STEPHEN LAVERICK.
“It is not,” he declared promptly. “It is an impudent forgery. Good
God! You don’t mean to say that you parted with my property to—”
The cashier stopped his breathless question.
“I haven’t parted with anything, sir,” he said. “I was just wondering
what to do when you came in. I’d no reason to believe that the
signature was a forgery, but I didn’t like the look of it, somehow.
We’d better be after him. Come along, sir.”
They hurried outside. The man was nowhere in sight. The cashier
summoned the head porter.
“A gentleman has just come out,” he exclaimed,—“tall and fair, very
carefully dressed, with a single eyeglass! Which way did he go?”
“He’s just driven off in a big Daimler car, sir,” the porter answered.
“I noticed him particularly. He spoke to the chauffeur in Austrian.”
Laverick looked out into the Strand.
“Can’t we stop him?” he asked rapidly.
The porter smiled as he shook his head.
“Not the ghost of a chance, sir. He shot round the corner there as
though he were in a desperate hurry, and went the wrong side of the
island. I heard the police calling to him. I hope there’s nothing
wrong, Mr. Dean?”
The cashier hesitated and glanced at Laverick.
“Nothing much,” Laverick answered. “We should have liked to have asked
him a question—that is all.”
Bellamy came out from the hotel and paused to light a cigarette.
“How are you, Laverick?” he said quietly. “Nothing the matter, I hope?”
“Nothing worth mentioning,” Laverick replied.
The cashier returned to his duties. The two men were alone. Bellamy,
most carefully dressed, with his silver-headed cane under his arm, and
his silk hat at precisely the correct angle, seemed very far removed
from the work of intrigue into which Laverick felt himself to have
blundered. He looked down for a moment at the tips of his patent shoes
and up again at the sky, as though anxious about the weather.
“What about a drink, Laverick?” he asked nonchalantly.
“Delighted!” Laverick assented.