Part 42 (1/2)

The painter went over to an old Spanish cabinet and rummaged for a box of cigarettes, with his horsey-looking back turned towards her.

”Did he?” she repeated. ”Can't you tell me what happened when you spoke to him? Why force me to cross-examine you in this indelicate way?”

”Here you are!” said Garstin, turning round with a box of cigarettes.

”Thank you.”

”I gave him my name.”

”He knew it, of course?”

”He didn't say so. There was no celebrity-start of pleasure. I had to explain that I occasionally painted portraits and that I wished to make a study of his d.a.m.ned remarkable head. Upon that he handed me his card.

Here it is.”

And Garstin drew out of a side pocket a visiting-card, which he gave to Miss Van Tuyn.

She read: ”Nicolas Arabian.”

There was no address in the corner.

”What a curious name!”

She sat gazing at the card and smoking her cigarette.

”Do you know where he is staying?”

”No.”

”Did you speak English to him?”

”I did.”

”And he spoke good English?”

”Yes, with a foreign accent of some kind.”

At this moment an electric bell sounded below.

”There he is!” said Miss Van Tuyn, quickly giving back the card to Garstin, who dropped it into his pocket. ”Do go down quickly and let him in, or he may think it is all a hoax and go away.”

The painter stood looking at her keenly, with his hands in his pockets and his strong, thin legs rather wide apart.

”Well, at any rate you're d.a.m.ned unconventional!” he said. ”At this moment you even look unconventional. What are your eyes s.h.i.+ning about?”

”d.i.c.k--do go!”

She laid a hand on his arm. There was a strong grip in her fingers.

”This is a little adventure. And I love an adventure,” she said.

”I only hope it ends badly,” said Garstin, as he turned towards the staircase. ”He's more patient than you. He hasn't rung twice.”