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Updated: April 30, 2025
"Oscar H. Fischer," he said. "Happen to know the name?" Lutchester's face was immovable. He passed the license back again. They both turned round. Mr. Fischer had issued from the restaurant. "What's wrong?" he asked hastily. "The commissionaire says you want me, Mr. Officer?" The inspector produced his pocketbook. "Just want to ask you a few questions about your chauffeur, sir."
Accustomed to self-analysis, she asked herself swiftly what? It was, without a doubt, something to do with Lutchester's departure. She tried to face the question of her disappointment. Was it possible to feel any real interest in a man who preferred a Government post to the army at such a time, and who had brought his golf clubs out to America?
He was seated in the most comfortable easy-chair of John Lutchester's bachelor sitting-room. By his side was a coffee equipage and a decanter of brandy. His head still throbbed, and his bones ached, but his mind was beginning to grow clearer. Lutchester, who had been seated at the writing table, swung round in his chair at the sound of his guest's movement. "Feeling better, eh?" he asked.
"That's easy enough," Van Teyl replied, rising from his place. "And I'll order tea at the same time." Pamela leaned a little further back in her chair. Her eyes seemed to be fixed upon the pleasant prospect of wooded slopes and green, upward-stretching sward. As a matter of fact, she saw only two faces Fischer's and Lutchester's.
"Queer set out, isn't it? We won't wait a moment longer. Take my sister and Miss Van Teyl in, will you?" he went on, laying his hand on Lutchester's shoulder. "Ferrani will look after you. I'll follow directly." The chief maitre d'hotel advanced to meet them with a gesture of invitation, and led them to a table arranged for five.
"You really don't deserve it, you know." "And why not?" "Just see how you have bungled! You bait the trap, the poor man walks into it, and you allow another to forestall you. Not only that, but you actually allow Japan to come into the game, and but for Mr. Lutchester's appearance we might both of us have been left plante la. No, Mr. Fischer!
Lutchester's eyes now never left the dark, doubled-up figure upon the pavement. His whole body was tense. He was prepared at the slightest movement to spring in upon his would-be murderer. The man's eyes seemed to be burning in his white face. He called out to Lutchester hoarsely. "Don't move or I shall shoot!" He looked up and down the street.
I have just heard, too, that Baron von Schwerin is giving a dinner-party." Lutchester looked thoughtfully at the little stream of people. The Ambassador left him for a few moments to welcome some late comers. He returned presently and resumed his seat by Lutchester's side.
Fischer's fingers stole once more towards the pocket into which, at Lutchester's entrance, he had slipped his revolver. Lutchester, to all appearance, remained sublimely unconscious of the tension which his words and appearance seemed to have created. He had strolled a little further into the room, and was looking down at the packet which he still held.
Pamela shook her head. "I am coming with you to-morrow, you know," she reminded her aunt. "To-night I am Mr. Lutchester's guest and he will see me home." Mrs. Hastings drew her niece a little closer to her. "Is this part of your European manners, Pamela?" she whispered, "that you dine alone in a restaurant with an acquaintance? Let me tell you frankly that I dislike the idea most heartily.
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