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Updated: June 20, 2025
Henfrey has escaped from France." "Escaped!" she echoed. "Why?" "Because the police suspect him of a crime." "Crime! What crime? Surely he is innocent?" she cried. "He certainly is. His friends know that. Therefore, Miss Ranscomb, I beg of you to betray no undue anxiety even if you do not hear from him for many weeks." "But will he write to me?" she asked in despair.
She presented a dainty figure in cream gabardine and a broad-brimmed straw hat which suited her admirably. Her clothes were made by a certain famous couturiere in Hanover Square, for Lady Ranscomb had the art of dressing her daughter as well as she did herself. Gowns make the lady nowadays, or the fashionable dressmakers dare not make their exorbitant charges.
He certainly ought to have let me know, and not have kept me waiting nearly half an hour, as he did," her mother snapped. The girl did not reply. The truth was that while her mother and the Count had been waiting for Hugh's appearance, she had gone to the telephone and inquired for Mr. Henfrey. Walter Brock had spoken to her. "I'm awfully sorry, Miss Ranscomb," he had replied.
In this state of keen anxiety and overstrung nerves she was compelled to meet almost daily, and be civil to, her mother's friend, the odious George Sherrard. Lady Ranscomb was for ever singing the man's praises, and never weary of expressing her surprise at Hugh's unforgivable behaviour.
"Have I not already answered that question twice?" he asked. "Rest assured, Mr. Henfrey, that I have your interests very much at heart." "You have some reason for that, I'm sure." "Well yes, I have a reason a reason which is my own affair." And he rose to wish his visitor "good-night." "I'll not forget to let Miss Ranscomb know that you will be at Farnham.
"I shall not go if you refuse to go," she said with a pout. Therefore in order to please her he consented providing Lady Ranscomb invited him. They had wandered a long way up the narrow, secluded valley, but had met not a soul.
Let us meet there at once. Au revoir." And he left her. Three minutes later they met again out of sight of Lady Ranscomb, who was still sitting at one of the little wicker tables talking to three other women. "Tell me, who are you?" Dorise inquired. The white cavalier laughed. "I'm Mr. X," was his reply. "Mr. X? Who's that?" "Myself. But my name matters nothing, Miss Ranscomb," he said.
She had done so before, when four or five years ago she had lived at Keswick. "Do you know, Charles," she said presently, "I'm really very apprehensive regarding the present situation. Yvonne is, no doubt, keeping a watchful eye upon the young fellow. But what can she do if he has followed the Ranscomb girl and is with her each day? Each day, indeed, must bring the pair closer together, and "
Dorise said half-past seven, and we'll just get across to the Metropole in time. Lady Ranscomb is always awfully punctual at home, and I expect she carries out her time-table here." The two men put on light overcoats over their dinner-jackets and strolled in the warm dusk across the Gardens and up the Galerie, with its expensive little shops, past the original Ciro's to the Metropole.
But first, I am very interested to know how you got over here." "I went to Ostend, and for twenty pounds induced a Belgian fisherman to put me ashore at night near Caister, in Norfolk. I went to London at once, only to discover that Miss Ranscomb was at Blairglas and here I am. But I assure you it was an adventurous crossing, for the weather was terrible a gale blew nearly the whole time."
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