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Updated: August 23, 2024
There were very few other guests in the room, the majority being down in the larger restaurant, but among these few Tavernake noticed two of the girls from the chorus at the Atlas. Elizabeth had chosen a table from which she had a view of the door, and she took the seat facing it. From the first Tavernake felt certain that she was watching for some one.
Again he felt that pain, a pain for which he could not account. Suddenly America seemed so far away, the loneliness of the great continent became an actual and appreciable thing. The professor was very much occupied ordering the supper. Tavernake leaned across the table. "Do you remember our first supper here, Beatrice?" he asked.
"I should like," she announced, laying down the carte, "a fried sole, some cutlets, an ice, and black coffee." The waiter bowed. "And for Monsieur?" Tavernake glanced at his watch; it was already ten o'clock. "I will take the same," he declared. "And to drink?" She seemed indifferent. "Any light wine," she answered, carelessly, "white or red." Tavernake took up the wine list and ordered sauterne.
Personally, I regret to say that I was not up when they left." Beatrice leaned quite close to her father. "Do you see anything of the man Pritchard?" she inquired. The professor was suddenly flabby. He set down his glass, spilling half its contents. He stole a quick glance at Tavernake. "My child," he exclaimed, "you ought to consider my nerves!
"No, this is my sister," Tavernake answered, slowly, "Mr. Belton and Mr. Dowling." The two men acknowledged the salute with some slight surprise. Beatrice, although her clothes were simple, had always the air of belonging to a different world. "Your brother, my dear Miss Tavernake," Mr. Dowling declared, "is a perfect genius at discovering these desirable sites.
You don't fit in anywhere. Take my advice and hook it altogether." Tavernake shook his head. "I can't do that just now," he said. "Good-night! I'm off for the present, at any rate." Pritchard, too, rose to his feet. He passed his arm through Tavernake's. "Young man," he remarked, "there are not many in this country whom I can trust. You're one of them.
It was not really possible that those people those well-bred, well-looking people had seriously contemplated an enormity which seemed to belong to the back pages of history, or that he, Tavernake, had burst through a wall with no weapons in his hand, and had dominated the situation! He sat there steadily thinking. It was incredible, but it was true!
"Why should you," Pritchard remarked, "without proof? Look here." He drew a leather case from his pocket and spread it out. There were a dozen photographs there of men in prison attire. The detective pointed to one, and with a little shiver Tavernake recognized the face of the man who had been sitting at the right hand of Elizabeth. "You don't mean to say," he faltered, "that Mrs. Gardner "
"You are exciting yourself unnecessarily, Mrs. Fitzgerald," Tavernake remarked. "Let me assure you that it was I who took your bracelet from that table." Mrs. Fitzgerald regarded him scornfully. "Do you expect me to believe a tale like that?" she demanded. "Why not?" Tavernake replied. "It is the truth. I am sorry that you have been so upset " "It is not the truth!" More sensation!
Tavernake had seen the same thing before, with the exception that the professor was perhaps a little behind the majority of his fellow-craftsmen. The performance was finished in dead silence, and after it was over, Beatrice came to the front and sang.
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