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"Will our friend take this very reasonable hint and depart?" Draconmeyer's eyes were still fixed upon Hunterleys' slim, self-possessed figure. His forehead was contorted into a frown. Somehow or other, he felt that during their brief interview he had failed to score; he had felt a subtle, underlying note of contempt in Hunterleys' manner, in his whole attitude. "I do not know," he replied grimly.
"A few hours ago," Hunterleys replied. "By the Luxe? How strange! I went down to meet it." "I came from the other side." "Ah!" Mr. Draconmeyer's ejaculation was interrogative, Hunterleys hesitated for a moment. Then he continued with a little shrug of the shoulders. "I have been staying at San Remo and Bordighera." Mr. Draconmeyer was much interested.
Draconmeyer's voice seemed to bring her back to a present not altogether agreeable. "I am going back to my room for a little time," she replied. "I will call in and see Linda first, if you like." They left the restaurant together and strolled across the Square to the Hotel de Paris, ascended in the lift, and made their way to Draconmeyer's suite of rooms in a silence which was almost unbroken.
"Do you happen, Sir Henry," he asked, "to have had any word from the prison authorities to-day?" Hunterleys nodded. "I have just received a message," he replied. "I understand that the man with whom I had a struggle last night has received some internal injuries and is likely to die." Draconmeyer's manner became more mysterious.
Let me take you to your rooms. I will tell you all that has happened. Your husband will not be able to see you or speak with you." "I shall not get out," she declared, when the lift boy, in obedience to Draconmeyer's imperative order, stopped at her floor. "If I may not go on in the lift, I shall walk up the stairs. I am going to my husband." "He will not recognise you," Draconmeyer warned her.
"Draconmeyer's one man I should be glad to see out of London," he declared. We'll meet in an hour, Hunterleys. My man is putting out some things for me and I must have a bath." Hunterleys walked up to the hospital, and to his surprise met Selingman coming away. The latter saluted him with a wave of the hat and a genial smile. "Calling to see our poor invalid?" he enquired blandly.
Keep your part of the bargain," he added, under his breath, "and the Wolves' fangs are already in this man's throat." He danced again. The two men watched him. Draconmeyer's face was as still and colourless as ever. In Selingman's there was a shade of something almost like repulsion. He poured himself out a glass of champagne. "Draconmeyer," he exclaimed, "you are a cold-blooded fish, indeed!
"Why, man alive, he is on our hooks already! Be at rest, my friend. The affair is half arranged. It remains only with us to deal with one man." Draconmeyer's eyes sparkled beneath his spectacles. A slow smile crept over his white face. "You are right," he agreed. "That man is best out of the way. If he and Douaille should meet " "They shall not meet," Selingman thundered.
She had done this thing at Draconmeyer's instigation, done this thing against her husband, taken sides absolutely with the man whom he had come to look upon as his enemy! What inference was he to draw? He sat there, looking out over the Mediterranean, soft and blue, glittering with sunlight, breaking upon the yellow stretch of sand in little foam-flecked waves no higher than his hand.
Has your solitary day depressed you?" Selingman turned slowly around. Draconmeyer's eyes beneath his gold-rimmed spectacles were bright. He was carrying himself with less than his usual stoop, he wore a red carnation in his buttonhole. He was in spirits which for him were almost boisterous. "Have you been in there?" Selingman asked, in a low tone.
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