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Updated: June 13, 2025
A rare smile flashed from Wrayson's lips. "You can't imagine what a relief her sex is to me!" he exclaimed. "I don't know why," she answered pensively. "Do you know anything about the North of France, Mr. Wrayson?" "Not much," he answered. "I hope to know more presently." Her eyes laughed across at him. "You know what I said about the third person in Paradise?"
"I'm all right, boys," he declared. "I couldn't find a cab had to walk further than I meant, and I wanted a drink badly. Wrayson, come over here. I want to talk to you." Wrayson sat down by his side. "I've done the best I could," the Colonel said. "Things may not come all right for you quite at once, but within a week I fancy it'll be all squared up.
From what I have heard of him, I should not imagine your young friend to be possessed of either. The lady whom he was entertaining, or rather failing to entertain, at dinner " "I have seen her since," Wrayson interrupted shortly. "She went straight to the Alhambra." The Colonel nodded. "I would have insured her against even suspicion," he remarked.
He had no sooner turned the key in the latch of his door and entered his sitting-room, than he became aware of the fact that he had a visitor. The air was fragrant with tobacco smoke; a man rose deliberately from the easy-chair, and, throwing the ash from his cigarette into the fire, turned to greet him. Wrayson was so astonished that he could only gasp out his name. "Heneage!" he exclaimed.
He clambered up to his seat, and without another word struck his horse with the whip. The cab drove off and disappeared. Wrayson turned slowly round, and, closing the door of the flats, mounted with leaden feet to the fourth story. He entered his own rooms, and walked without hesitation to the window, which was still open.
A gold-foiled bottle appeared, and a packet of hastily cut sandwiches. Wrayson found himself mechanically eating and drinking before he knew where he was. Then in an instant the sandwiches had become delicious, and the wine was rushing through his veins like a new elixir of life. He was himself again, the banging of anvils in his head had ceased; he was shaken perhaps, but a sane man.
The Colonel, who hated being interrupted, answered a little testily. "My dear Wrayson," he expostulated, "is this the sort of thing a man invents for fun? Do listen for a moment, if you can, in patience. It is a deeply interesting case.
"Very well," he said, "we will bury it. But before we do so, there is one thing I have had it in my mind to say for some time. I want to say it now. It is about your daughter, Colonel!" The Colonel looked at him curiously. "My daughter?" he repeated, under his breath. Wrayson leaned a little forward. Something new had come into his face.
Wrayson said. "My name is Wrayson you remember me, I daresay." "I remember you certainly, Mr. Wrayson," the lawyer answered. His eyes were resting once more upon Sydney Barnes. "This," Wrayson explained, "is Mr. Sydney Barnes, a brother of the Mr. Morris Barnes, who was, I believe, a client of yours."
Wrayson almost held his breath as he leaned towards the dark chaos of the thickly planted trees. Only a few yards away he could distinctly hear the dry snapping of twigs. Some one was keeping pace with them inside the wood, now he could see the stooping figure of a man creeping stealthily along. A little exclamation broke from Louise's lips. "It is a spy after all," she muttered.
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