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Lord Ronsdale considered; when he spoke, his voice was low, but it did not caress the ear. "You know John Steele, of course?" The ferret eyes snapped. "That I do, your Lordship. What of him?" quickly. The caller made no reply but tapped the floor lightly with his cane, and "What of him?" repeated Mr. Gillett. Lord Ronsdale's glance turned; it had a strange brightness.
Lord Ronsdale gazed down; half-sitting on the corner of the table, he swung one glossy shoe to and fro. "Perhaps he's hiding his light under a bushel?" said the lady. The nobleman made a sound. "Perhaps!" "I was asking Captain Forsythe about his antecedents. No one here seems to know. Possibly you can enlighten us." "I?" Lord Ronsdale's tone was purring. "Why should I be able to?
Gillett looked from the speaker to him he had brought there and after a moment turned and obeyed; but the instant's hesitation seemed to say that he began to realize there was more to the affair than he had fathomed. "There is no need for many words between us, Mr. Steele." Lord Ronsdale's accents were poignant and sharp. "Had you listened to what Mr.
Steele allowed his glance for the fraction of a moment to linger on Lord Ronsdale's face. "I'll answer for that." A slight pause ensued. "Decided rather suddenly to run down, didn't you?" "Rather." "Heard you were on the continent. From Sir Charles, don't you know. Pleasant time, I trust?" he drawled. "Thank you!" John Steele did not answer directly.
Lord Ronsdale's eyes fastened on it; his lips moved slightly but if any sound fell from them, it was rendered inaudible by Sir Charles' exclamation: "Bad jab, that, Steele! Looks as if it might have been made by an African spear!" "No." John Steele smiled, encountering other glances, curious, questioning. "Can't include the land of ivory among the countries I've been in," he added easily.
And the object of that visit solved, I have now a matter of greatest importance to communicate, so important it could only be imparted by word of mouth!" The police agent spoke hastily and moved nearer. "Indeed?" Lord Ronsdale's thin, cold lips raised slightly, but not to suggest a smile; his eyes met the police agent's. "You have reached a conclusion?
As she did so, she started, straightened suddenly; then her expression changed; the voice of Lord Ronsdale without was followed by that of Jocelyn Wray. "Never fear! They'll get the fellow yet," my lord had said. Jocelyn answered mechanically; the door opened; the maid caught a glimpse of Ronsdale's face, of the cold eyes that looked the least bit annoyed.
His manner, or method, appeared perfunctory, too perfunctory! Why did he not enter into the contest with more abandon? Between flashes of steel she again saw the scar on his arm; it seemed to exercise a sort of fascination over her. What had caused it, this jagged, irregular mark? He had not said. Lord Ronsdale's words, "A recent wound perhaps Mr. Steele is too modest " returned to her.
If Ronsdale's quickness was cat-like, the other's movements had now all the swiftness and grace of a panther. The girl's eyes widened; all vague questioning vanished straightway from her mind; it was certainly very beautiful, that agility, that deft, incessant wrist play. "Hello!"
The latter was nonchalantly regarding the pages of a book he yet held; his face was half-turned from the nobleman. The clear-cut, bold profile, the easy, assured carriage, so suggestive of strength, seemed to attract, to compel Lord Ronsdale's attention. "For my part," went on Sir Charles in a somewhat disappointed tone, "I am one who views with regret the decadence of a great national pastime."
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