Part 11 (1/2)

Tavernake sat a few hours later at his evening meal in the tiny sitting-room of an apartment house in Chelsea. He wore a black tie, and although he had not yet aspired to a dinner coat, the details of his person and toilet showed signs of a new attention. Opposite to him was Beatrice.

”Tell me,” she asked, as soon as the small maid-servant who brought in their first dish had disappeared, ”what have you been doing all day?

Have you been letting houses or surveying land or book-keeping, or have you been out to Marston Rise?”

It was her customary question, this. She really took an interest in his work.

”I have been attending a rich American client,” he announced, ”a compatriot of your own. I went with her to Grantham House in her own motor-car. I believe she thinks of taking it.”

”American!” Beatrice remarked. ”What was her name?”

Tavernake looked up from his plate across the little table, across the bowl of simple flowers which was its sole decoration.

”She called herself Mrs. Wenham Garner!”

Away like a flash went the new-found peace in the girl's face. She caught at her breath, her fingers gripped the table in front of her.

Once more she was as he had known her first--pale, with great terrified eyes s.h.i.+ning out of a haggard face.

”She has been to you,” Beatrice gasped, ”for a house? You are sure?”

”I am quite sure,” Tavernake declared, calmly.

”You recognized her?”

He a.s.sented gravely.

”It was the woman who stood in the chemist's shop that night, signing her name in a book,” he said.

He did not apologize in any way for the shock he had given her. He had done it deliberately. From that very first morning, when they had breakfasted together at London Bridge, he had felt that he deserved her confidence, and in a sense it was a grievance with him that she had withheld it.

”Did she recognize you?”

”Yes,” he admitted. ”I was sent for into the office and found her there with the chief. I felt sure that she recognized me from the first, and when she agreed to look at Grantham House, she insisted upon it that I should accompany her. While we were in the motor-car, she asked me about you. She wished for your address.”

”Did you give it to her?” the girl cried, breathlessly.

”No; I said that I must consult you first.”

She drew a little sigh of relief. Nevertheless, she was looking white and shaken.

”Did she say what she wanted me for?”

”She was very mysterious,” Tavernake answered. ”She spoke of some danger of which you knew nothing. Before I came away, she offered me a hundred pounds to let her know where you were.”

Beatrice laughed softly.

”That is just like Elizabeth,” she declared. ”You must have made her very angry. When she wants anything, she wants it very badly indeed, and she will never believe that every person has not his price. Money means everything to her. If she had it, she would buy, buy, buy all the time.”

”On the face of it,” Tavernake remarked, soberly, ”her offer seemed rather an absurd one. If she is in earnest, if she is really so anxious to discover your whereabouts, she will certainly be able to do so without my help.”

”I am not so sure,” Beatrice replied. ”London is a great hiding place.”