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He had found the door closed and locked, and a neighbor had informed him that Miss Leneveu had gone out in a cab with the nurse, some time ago, and had not returned. Laverick sent Bellamy's car back and waited. Presently a four-wheel cab came round the corner and stopped in front of her house. Laverick opened the door and helped Zoe out.
"I will not be called Miss Leneveu any more by you. You must call me Miss Zoe, please, Zoe, if you like." "Zoe, by all means. Under the circumstances, I think it is only fitting." His eyes wandered across the room again. "Ah!" she cried softly, "you, too, are coming under the spell, then. I was reading about her only the other day.
He stood still with the receiver pressed to his ear. Was it his fancy, or was that really Zoe's protesting voice which he heard in the background? It was a woman or a child who was speaking he was almost sure that it was Zoe. "Who are you?" he asked fiercely. "Miss Leneveu is there with you. Why does she not speak for herself?" "Miss Leneveu is not here," was the answer.
It was not long before Doctor Leneveu, a short, stout, bald-headed little man, well known to habitues of the Rooms, among whom he had a large practice, entered the house of Mademoiselle and was greeted by Hugh. The latter briefly explained the tragic circumstances, whereupon the little doctor at once became fussy and excited.
The note it was really little more than a message was written on the back of a programme and enclosed in an envelope evidently borrowed from the box-office. It read as follows: DEAR MISS LENEVEU, I believe that Mr. Arthur Morrison is a connection of yours, and I am venturing to introduce myself to you as a friend of his.
Then he was about to put further questions to the man Cataldi when Doctor Leneveu entered the room. "How is she?" demanded Hugh breathlessly. The countenance of the fussy little doctor fell. "Monsieur," he said in a low earnest voice, "I much fear that Mademoiselle will not recover. My colleague Duponteil concurs with that view.
"Isaac's story is that you married her mother, who was his sister, in Paris, nineteen and a half years ago. Her name was Cécile Ruth Leneveu, and she was acting at one of the theatres. She was really Isaac's half-sister. His father had brought him from Paris when he was only a child, and married again almost at once.
They crossed the hall and Laverick entered one of the telephone booths. "1232 Gerrard," he said. The connection was made almost at once. "Who are you?" Laverick asked. "I am speaking for Miss Zoe Leneven," was the reply. "Are you Mr. Laverick?" "I am," Laverick answered. "Is Miss Leneveu there? Can she speak to me herself?" "She is not here," the voice continued.
"Is the lady still alive?" inquired the inspector of Doctor Leneveu. "Yes. I have ordered her to be taken up to her room of course, when m'sieur the inspector gives permission." Ogier looked at the deathly countenance with the closed eyes, and noted that the wound in the skull had been bound up with a cotton handkerchief belonging to one of the maids.
He's a broken-spirited cur, after all." "You'll have some lunch?" Bellamy asked. Laverick shook his head. "If you don't mind, I'd like to go on and see Miss Leneveu." "Put me down at the club, then, and take my car on, if you will." Laverick walked up and down the pavement outside Zoe's little house for nearly half-an-hour.
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