Part 45 (1/2)

”He is there now?” Pritchard asked.

”He is there now,” Tavernake a.s.sented.

Pritchard withdrew the cigar from his mouth and watched it for a moment.

”Say, Tavernake,” he went on, ”is that man who is now having supper with Mrs. Wenham Gardner the man whom she expected?”

”I imagine so,” Tavernake replied.

”Didn't she seem in any way scared or disturbed when he first turned up?”

”She looked as I have seen no one else on earth look before,” Tavernake admitted. ”She seemed simply terrified to death. I do not know why--she didn't explain--but that is how she looked.”

”Yet she sent you away!”

”She sent me away. She didn't care what became of me. She was watching the door all the time before he came. Who is he, Pritchard?”

”That sounds a simple question,” Pritchard answered gravely, ”but it means a good deal. There's mischief afoot to-night, Tavernake.”

”You seem to thrive on it,” Tavernake retorted, drily. ”Any more bunk.u.m?”

Pritchard smiled.

”Come,” he said, ”you're a sensible chap. Take these things for what they're worth. Believe me when I tell you now that there is a great deal more in the coming of this man than Mrs. Wenham Gardner ever bargained for.”

”I wish you'd tell me who he is,” Tavernake begged. ”All this mystery about Beatrice and her sister, and that lazy old hulk of a father, is most irritating.”

Pritchard nodded sympathetically.

”You'll have to put up with it a little longer, I'm afraid, my young friend,” he declared. ”You've done me a good turn; I'll do you one. I'll give you some good advice. Keep out of this place so long as the old man and his daughter are hanging out here. The girl 's clever--oh, she's as clever as they make them--but she's gone wrong from the start. They ain't your sort, Tavernake. 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 pa.s.sed 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. There's a sort of solidity about you that I rather admire. You are not likely to break out and do silly things. Do you care for adventures?”

”I detest them,” Tavernake answered, ”especially the sort I tumbled into the other night.”

Pritchard laughed softly. They had left the room now and were walking along the open s.p.a.ce at the end of the restaurant, leading to the main exit.

”That's the difference between us,” he declared thoughtfully. ”Now adventures to me are the salt of my life. I hang about here and watch these few respectable-looking men and women, and there doesn't seem to be much in it to an outsider, but, gee whiz! there's sometimes things underneath which you fellows don't tumble to. A man asks another in there to have a drink. They make a cheerful appointment to meet for lunch, to motor to Brighton. It all sounds so harmless, and yet there are the seeds of a conspiracy already sown. They hate me here, but they know very well that wherever they went I should be around. I suppose some day they'll get rid of me.”

”More bunk.u.m!” Tavernake muttered.

They stood in front of the door and pa.s.sed through into the courtyard.