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The concierge had only just recovered himself, but the place was beginning to wear its normal aspect. He whispered an enquiry at the desk. Sir Henry Hunterleys had just come in and had gone upstairs, he was told. His new room was number 148. "There was a note from his wife," Draconmeyer said, trying hard to control his voice. "Has he had it?" "It is here still, sir," the clerk replied.
"Your good fortune continues, I hope?" "It varies," she answered hurriedly, "but it will come, I am sure. I have been very near a big win more than once." He seemed on the point of departure. She leaned a little forward. "You had my note, Henry?" Her tone was almost beseeching. Draconmeyer, who was listening with stony face, shivered imperceptibly.
Before long he was once more upon his feet, starting out upon his quest with renewed energy. He had scarcely taken a dozen steps, however, when he came face to face with Lady Hunterleys and Mr. Draconmeyer. Quite oblivious of the fact that they seemed inclined to avoid him, he greeted them both with unusual warmth. "Saw your husband just now, Lady Hunterleys," he remarked, a little puzzled.
Draconmeyer assented heartily. "The most serious of us must have our frivolous moments. I hope that you will dine with us to-night? We shall be quite alone." Hunterleys shook his head. "Thank you," he said, "I have another engagement pending." Mr. Draconmeyer was filled with polite regrets, but he did not renew the invitation. "When did you arrive?" he asked.
I have never had the privilege of your friendship, and in this unfortunate disagreement between your wife and yourself I have been compelled to accept your wife's point of view, owing to the friendship between Mrs. Draconmeyer and herself. I trust you will believe, however, that I have no feelings of hostility towards you." "You are very kind," Hunterleys murmured.
"You left London," he remarked tersely, "on December first. It is to-day February twentieth. Do you wish me to understand that you have been at Bordighera and San Remo all that time?" "How did you know when I left London?" Hunterleys demanded. Mr. Draconmeyer pursed his lips. "I heard of your departure from London entirely by accident," he said.
"For anything I know to the contrary, you are, outside the world of finance, one of the dullest and most harmless men existing. My own position is simply as I explained it during the first few sentences we exchanged. I do not like you, I detest my wife's name being associated with yours, and for that reason, the less I see of you the better I am pleased." Mr. Draconmeyer nodded thoughtfully.
It was then that her friendship with Linda Draconmeyer had been so vigorously renewed, a friendship which seemed from the first to have threatened his happiness. Had it been his fault? he wondered. Had he really been too much engrossed in his work? His country had made large demands upon him in those days. Had he ever explained the matter fully and carefully enough to her? Perhaps not.
What more natural than that the Wolves should revenge themselves upon the man who captured one of their leaders? It was the young American, Richard Lane, who really started the debacle, but it was Hunterleys who seized Martin. What more natural than revenge? These fellows hang by one another always." Draconmeyer nodded with grim approval. "It was devilish work he did in Sofia," he said softly.
Grex," he announced, "is a gentleman of great wealth and illustrious birth, who has taken a very magnificent villa and desires for a time to lead a life of seclusion. That is as much as I or any one else knows." "What about the young lady?" Richard persisted. "The young lady," Mr. Draconmeyer answered, "is, as you surmised, his daughter.... Shall we finish our promenade, Lady Hunterleys?"
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