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This was the third week of Selwood's secretaryship to Jacob Herapath. Herapath was a well-known man in London. He was a Member of Parliament, the owner of a sort of model estate of up-to-date flats, and something of a crank about such matters as ventilation, sanitation, and lighting.
The phraseology of the mysterious note; the clandestine fashion in which it had been brought under Peggie's notice; the extraordinary method adopted of procuring an interview with her all these things had aroused Selwood's suspicions, and his natural sense of caution was at its full stretch as he walked across to the car, wondering what he and Peggie were about to confront.
Unconsciously, she laid a hand on Selwood's arm as they passed through the porch, and Selwood, with a quick throb of pride, took it and held it. Then, arm in arm, they walked out, and a verger who opened the outer door for them, smiled as they passed him; he foresaw another passing-out, whereat Peggie would wear orange blossoms.
He himself, a bachelor, lived in one of the best houses in Portman Square; when he engaged Selwood as his secretary he made him take a convenient set of rooms in Upper Seymour Street, close by. He also caused a telephone communication to be set up between his own house and Selwood's bedroom, so that he could summon his secretary at any hour of the night.
I'll go and report progress on that, anyway." He put Peggie into her car to go home, and himself hailed a taxi-cab and drove straight to Mr. Halfpenny's office, where Professor Cox-Raythwaite and Mr. Tertius had arranged to meet him. The three elderly gentlemen, seated in Mr. Halfpenny's private room, listened with intense, if silent, interest to Selwood's account of the interview with Barthorpe.
But the register " He sped down the room, through a side door, vanished; to return in a moment with a book which he carried to Selwood's side. "Dimambro?" he said. "Recently, then? We shall see." "About the beginning or middle of November," answered Selwood. The manager found the pages: suddenly he pointed to an entry. "See, then!" he exclaimed dramatically. "You are right, sir.
Draw a cheque for fifty thousand, if you like!" "And you will go with Mr. Selwood?" asked Peggie, with a touch of anxiety which was not lost on the Professor. "Go with him and take care of him, too," answered the Professor, digging his big fingers into Selwood's ribs. "Very good. Now stop here and lunch with me, and at two o'clock we'll telephone."
Peggie Wynne had never been so glad of anything in her life as for Selwood's immediate presence at that moment: Selwood felt a world of unspeakable gratitude that he was there, just when help and protection were wanted. For each recognized, with a sure instinct and intuition, that those innocent-looking lines of type-script signified much, heralded some event of dire importance.
After which he unobtrusively followed the procession, hovered about its fringes around the grave until the last rites were over, and eventually edged himself up to Selwood as the gathering was dispersing. He quietly touched Selwood's sleeve. "Mr. Selwood!" he whispered. "Just a word. I know a lot of these gentlemen the M.P.'s and so on but there are some I don't know. Will you oblige me, now?
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