Part 16 (1/2)
T. X. had not seen him for a year and found very little change in this strange young man. He could not be more confident than he had been, nor bear himself with a more graceful carriage. Whatever social success he had achieved, it had not spoiled him, for his manner was as genial and easy as ever.
”I think that will do, Miss Holland,” he said, turning to the girl who, with notebook in hand, stood by the desk.
”Evidently,” thought T. X., ”our h.e.l.lenic friend has a pretty taste in secretaries.”
In that one glance he took her all in--from the bronze-brown of her hair to her neat foot.
T. X. was not readily attracted by members of the opposite s.e.x. He was self-confessed a predestined bachelor, finding life and its incidence too absorbing to give his whole mind to the serious problem of marriage, or to contract responsibilities and interests which might divert his attention from what he believed was the greater game. Yet he must be a man of stone to resist the freshness, the beauty and the youth of this straight, slender girl; the pink-and-whiteness of her, the aliveness and buoyancy and the thrilling sense of vitality she carried in her very presence.
”What is the weirdest name you have ever heard?” asked Kara laughingly.
”I ask you, because Miss Holland and I have been discussing a begging letter addressed to us by a Maggie Goomer.”
The girl smiled slightly and in that smile was paradise, thought T. X.
”The weirdest name?” he repeated, ”why I think the worst I have heard for a long time is Belinda Mary.”
”That has a familiar ring,” said Kara.
T. X. was looking at the girl.
She was staring at him with a certain languid insolence which made him curl up inside. Then with a glance at her employer she swept from the room.
”I ought to have introduced you,” said Kara. ”That was my secretary, Miss Holland. Rather a pretty girl, isn't she?”
”Very,” said T. X., recovering his breath.
”I like pretty things around me,” said Kara, and somehow the complacency of the remark annoyed the detective more than anything that Kara had ever said to him.
The Greek went to the mantlepiece, and taking down a silver cigarette box, opened and offered it to his visitor. Kara was wearing a grey lounge suit; and although grey is a very trying colour for a foreigner to wear, this suit fitted his splendid figure and gave him just that bulk which he needed.
”You are a most suspicious man, Mr. Meredith,” he smiled.
”Suspicious! I?” asked the innocent T. X.
Kara nodded.
”I am sure you want to enquire into the character of all my present staff. I am perfectly satisfied that you will never be at rest until you learn the antecedents of my cook, my valet, my secretary--”
T. X. held up his hand with a laugh.
”Spare me,” he said. ”It is one of my failings, I admit, but I have never gone much farther into your domestic affairs than to pry into the antecedents of your very interesting chauffeur.”
A little cloud pa.s.sed over Kara's face, but it was only momentary.
”Oh, Brown,” he said, airily, with just a perceptible pause between the two words.
”It used to be Smith,” said T. X., ”but no matter. His name is really Poropulos.”
”Oh, Poropulos,” said Kara gravely, ”I dismissed him a long time ago.”
”Pensioned hire, too, I understand,” said T. X.