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The only noticeable thing about this brief communication was that it was written in yellow pencil of a peculiar shade. Mr. Sabin's eyes glittered as he read. "The yellow crayon!" he muttered. Duson knocked softly at the door. Mr. Sabin thrust the letter and envelope into his breast coat pocket. "This is the luggage porter, sir," Duson announced. "He is prepared to answer any questions."
From the events connected with Judith Sabin's death through the long history of Meynell's goodness to her the mind of this lonely woman travelled on, to be filled and arrested by the great new fact of the present. She had made a new friend. And at the same moment she had found in her at last the rival with whom her own knowledge of life had threatened her these many years.
Sabin's face. Once more the fire of youth burned in his heart. And Lucille laughed softly as her lips met his, and her head sank upon his shoulder. Lady Carey suddenly dropped her partner's arm. She had seen a man standing by himself with folded arms and moody face at the entrance to the ball-room. She raised her lorgnettes. His identity was unquestionable.
Sabin's manner changed as though by magic. He was at once alert and vigorous. "My dear Passmore," he said, "come to the table. We shall want those Continental time-tables and the London A.B.C. You will have to take a journey to-night." The two women were alone in the morning-room of Lady Carey's house in Pont Street.
Brott gave signs of the man underneath. The air of polite interest had left his face. He glanced swiftly and keenly at his companion. Mr. Sabin's expression was immutable. It was he who scored, for he marked the change, whilst Mr. Brott could not be sure whether he had noticed it or not. "You have been living in America, then?" "For several years yes." "It is a country," Mr.
Lady Carey, who was sitting at the next table with her back to them, joined in the applause so heartily that a tiny gold pencil attached to her bracelet became detached and rolled unobserved to Mr. Sabin's side. Felix half rose to pick it up, but was suddenly checked by a quick gesture from his companion. "Leave it," Mr. Sabin whispered. "I wish to return it myself."
It was by her means also that the reaction in public opinion spread far beyond Meynell himself. It is true that even men and women of good will looked at each other in bewilderment, after the publication of the apology, and asked each other under their breaths "Then is there no story! and was Judith Sabin's whole narrative a delusion?"
"Pardon, monsieur," she exclaimed, with a smile. "I feared that I was too late." Mr. Sabin's fingers closed over the note, and he stepped blithely into the carriage. But when he tore it open and saw the handwriting he permitted himself a little groan of disappointment. It was not from her. He read the few lines and crushed the sheet of paper in his hand.
They crossed the hall and entered the elevator. Mr. Horser's face began to clear. In a moment or two they would be in Mr. Sabin's sitting-room-alone. He regarded with satisfaction the other's slim, delicate figure and the limp with which he moved. He felt that the danger was already over. BUT, after all, things did not exactly turn out as Mr. Horser had imagined.
The detective smiled. It was a very slight flicker of the lips, but it attracted Mr. Sabin's keen attention. "Your suggestions," the detective said, "are making this case a very interesting one. I have always understood, however, that reprisals of this extreme nature are seldom resorted to in this country. Besides, the man's position seems scarcely to indicate sufficient importance perhaps "
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