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He did not know how on earth they were going to be paid for; he was counting on an extra cheque from the Great Horatio as a wedding present. He was relieved when the taxi stopped at the hotel; he got out with a sigh; he turned to give his hand to Christine; his heart smote him as he looked at her. Sangster was right when he had called her "such a child."
Even now she wished that he would go away and leave her. He suddenly remembered what Sangster had said last night. He turned abruptly, looking down at Cynthia. She was sitting up now, looking before her with puckered brows. One small foot tapped the floor impatiently. Jimmy moved nearer to her. "Do you know what they are saying in the clubs?" he demanded.
"You've you've seen him, of course." "No, I haven't. If I did if I did, I'd break every bone in his infernal carcase," said Jimmy Challoner, between his teeth. He stared down at his friend with defiant, eyes as he spoke. Sangster said "Humph!" again. Then: "Well, there's as good fish in the sea as any that were caught," he said cheerily. "Look at it philosophically, old son."
Sounds as if you want a tonic," said Sangster in his most matter-of-fact way. He recognised a touch of hysteria in Jimmy's voice, and in spite of everything he felt sorry for him. "Give me a drink," said Jimmy presently. "That idiot, Costin, has kept everything locked up all day. I'm as dry as blazes. Give me a drink, there's a good chap."
"God help us on the common days, The level stretches white with dust!" prays Margaret Sangster. You would cry out in the pain of retrospection and anticipation, that all the days of the years of your life are common days "only that and nothing more." If this be so, you need the Help none ever seek in vain more than those to whom varied and exciting scenes are alloted.
She was all in black, poor little Christine, save for white gloves, and some white flowers which Jimmy had sent her to carry. She tried to smile and answer Sangster when he spoke to her, but the words died away in her throat.
"I like you, anyway," she said. Sangster did not look at her, but a little flush rose to his brow. "Thank you," he said, and his voice sounded, somehow, quite changed. As the curtain fell on the second act, he rose quietly from his seat and went round to where Jimmy stood. "Take my place," he said in an undertone. Jimmy looked up.
Let me. . . . I'll do all I can. . . I give you my word of honour that I'll move heaven and earth to find her. And we may be mistaken. We may. . . ." He broke off. Someone had knocked softly on the door. For a moment neither of them answered, then the handle was softly turned, and Christine stood there on the threshold. . . . Sangster caught his breath hard in his throat.
Sangster was the sort of man at whom a woman like Cynthia Farrow would never have given a second glance, if, indeed, she thought him worthy of a first. He was short and squarely built; his hair was undeniably red and ragged; his features were blunt, but he had a nice smile, and his small, nondescript eyes were kind. He sat down in the chair Jimmy had vacated and looked up at him quizzically.
He could hear Sangster talking to Christine behind him; he could not hear what he was saying; he was only too thankful that his friend had come. The last hours which he had spent alone with Christine had been a nightmare to him. He had been so unable to comfort her; he had been at his wits' end to know what to do or say.
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