Part 30 (2/2)

”P. S.--And of course neither of us had the sense to ask: If Miss S. was bound here from the St. Regis, how did her taxi manage to break down in Central Park?”

Prompt investigation revealed the truth of Mr. Iff's a.s.sertion: the bill-fold with its remaining two-hundred dollars was safely tucked away in the waistcoat pocket. Furthermore, the two twenty-pound notes were unquestionably genuine. The tide of Staff's faith in human nature began again to flood; the flower of his self-conceit flourished amazingly. He surmised that he wasn't such a bad little judge of mankind, after all.

He breakfasted with a famous appet.i.te, untroubled by Iff's aspersion on his sense of hearing, which was excellent; and he had certainly heard Miss Searle aright: she had named the St. Regis not once, but twice, and each time with the clearest enunciation. He could only attribute the mistake to her excitement and fatigue; people frequently make such mistakes under unusual conditions; if Miss Searle had wished to deceive him as to her whereabouts, she needed only to refrain from communicating with him at all. And anyway, he knew now where to find her and within the hour would have found her; and then everything would be cleared up.

He was mildly surprised at the sense of pleasant satisfaction with which he looked forward to meeting the girl again. He reminded himself not to forget to interview a manager or two in her interests.

Just to make a.s.surance doubly sure, he telephoned the St. Simon while waiting for Shultz to fetch a taxicab. The switchboard operator at that establishment replied in the affirmative to his enquiry as to whether or not Mrs. Ilkington and Miss Searle were registered there.

On the top of this he was called up by Alison.

”I'm just starting out--cab waiting,” he told her at once--”to go to Miss Searle and get your--property.”

”Oh, you are?” she returned in what he thought a singular tone.

”Yes; she called me up last night--said she'd discovered the mistake and the--ah--property--asked me to call today at noon.”

There was no necessity that he could see of detailing the whole long story over a telephone wire.

”Well,” said Alison after a little pause, ”I don't want to interfere with your amus.e.m.e.nts, but ... I've something very particular to say to you. I wish you'd stop here on your way uptown.”

”Why, certainly,” he agreed without hesitation or apprehension.

The actress had put up, in accordance with her custom, at a handsome, expensive and world-famous hotel in the immediate neighbourhood of Staff's rooms. Consequently he found himself in her presence within fifteen minutes from the end of their talk by telephone.

Dressed for the street and looking uncommonly handsome, she was waiting for him in the sitting-room of her suite. As he entered, she came forward and gave him a cool little hand and a greeting as cool. He received both with an imperturbability founded (he discovered to his great surprise) on solid indifference. It was hard to realise that he no longer cared for her, or whether she were pleased or displeased with him. But he didn't. He concluded, not without profound amazement, that his pa.s.sion for her which had burned so long and brightly had been no more than sentimental incandescence. And he began to think himself a very devil of a fellow, who could toy with the love of women with such complete insouciance, who could off with the old love before he had found a new and care not a rap!...

Throughout this self-a.n.a.lysis he was mouthing commonplaces--a.s.suring her that the day was fine, that he had never felt better, that she was looking her charming best. Of a sudden his vision comprehended an article which adorned the centre-table; and words forsook him and his jaw dropped.

It was _the_ bandbox: not that which he had left, with its cargo of trash, in his rooms.

Alison followed his glance, elevated her brows, and indicated the box with a wave of her arm.

”And what d' you know about that?” she enquired bluntly.

”Where did it come from?” he counter-questioned, all agape.

”I'm asking you.”

”But--I know nothing about it. Did Miss Searle send it--?”

”I can't say,” replied the actress drily. ”Your name on the tag has been scratched out and mine, with this address, written above it.”

Staff moved over to the table and while he was intently scrutinising the tag, Alison continued:

”It came by messenger about eight this morning; Jane brought it to me when I got up a little while ago.”

”The hat was in it?” he asked.

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