He buttoned up his jacket, squared his shoulders, and knocked at the second door from the end of the corridor.
There was no reply. It was now five o’clock, he noticed; perhaps she had already gone. He knocked again, this time more loudly, and pressed the electric bell. His disappointment merged into a warm wave of consolation that swept over him. He was well out of this! . . . By George, what a fool he might have looked! And he was in the act of turning away when the door was suddenly opened.
During the next five seconds the only thing he noticed about Sir Richard Templeton’s secretary was the expression in her eyes. It puzzled him, and it made him forget his own qualms. For the expression seemed to be one of fear—deadly fear—as though she had opened the door in apprehension of what she might see beyond it. And then, as she stared at him, she relaxed and held the door wide open.
‘I’m very sorry,’ she said. ‘I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.’
Alan Gilmour thought quickly. So she had heard his first knock! It looked, he decided, as though she was expecting a visit from somebody who wasn’t exactly welcome. That first terrified glance of hers had given him a jolt, though she was now doing her best to seem at ease.
‘Sir Richard’s out?’ he said.
‘Yes, and I’m sorry he’ll be engaged to-morrow——’
‘That’s quite all right,’ Gilmour assured her. ‘It isn’t Sir Richard I’ve come to see. It’s you.’
‘I?’
Just for an instant he saw again that flash of fear in her eyes. But now she had more control of herself, and she drew back puzzled.
‘It’s nothing much,’ he said. ‘I thought you wouldn’t mind doing me a favour—helping me. You see, I’ve just got back to London to-day, after six years, and I haven’t quite found my feet yet. Since you’re in touch with legal matters, and that sort of thing, it struck me that perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling me of a firm of solicitors. I’ve got a little bit of business to put through. One of the smaller people would do me quite well.’
‘Come in, won’t you?’ said Sir Richard Templeton’s secretary, leading the way into her room. He noticed that she carefully closed the outer door of the suite, and that she was still looking at him doubtfully. The October sun, setting over the roofs of Carlton House Terrace, shone into the room and lit up her hair. Like her eyes, it was a rich dark brown, vivid against her pale, smooth skin.
‘It’s quite easy to recommend a firm of solicitors to you,’ she said slowly; ‘but it isn’t so easy to recommend a stranger to them.’
Well, it was obvious that Templeton hadn’t selected her only for her looks!
‘Why not ask your bank?’ she added. ‘They’ll put you in touch with solicitors.’
‘Do you know, I hadn’t thought of that,’ he said hastily. ‘Yes, I’ll tackle them in the morning—the National Bank of India people. Thanks awfully.’
He glanced towards the window, which looked out over St. James’s Park. The shadows of the trees in the Mall were lengthening. Already there were lights in some windows beyond the Birdcage Walk. In another hour London would be preparing to amuse itself for the evening, and Alan Gilmour realized that he felt desperately lonely.
‘It’s queer to be back in town,’ he said.
‘I imagine it must be,’ she assented.
‘I’ve come from the East.’
‘So I gathered from the name of your bank.’
Suddenly he swung round and faced her. The faintest touch of coquetry in her attitude would have sent him backing hurriedly out. But she had been merely polite to him, punctiliously and even frigidly polite.
‘Look here,’ he said bluntly. ‘I’m going to beg another favour. It’ll sound a bit unconventional. But if you don’t like it, you can ring the bell and have me slung out. Listen! If by any chance you’re doing nothing to-night, will you dig out some friend and come to the theatre with me? This morning I thought London was the finest spot on earth, but I’m beginning to think it’s just about the loneliest!’
She sat down, her hands folded on her lap, and stared at the keys of the typewriter; then she put back her head and laughed.
‘And do you mean to tell me,’ she said slowly, ‘that you haven’t got a friend—a single friend—in all London, even though you have been away for six years?’
He hesitated. ‘Well, I know a bloke in Dulwich,’ he muttered, ‘and another in Finchley. But I doubt if they’d give me a very rousing welcome. You see, I was only a twopenny-ha’penny clerk when I left for the East. . . . Oh, and I’ve got a great-aunt or something in Surrey, but I think she’s dead. At least, I hope she is,’ he added savagely.
She laughed again, and rose to her feet.
‘I won’t come to the theatre with you,’ she said. ‘Not because I’m doing anything else. Not even because it would be unconventional. But simply because I could never pay you back. I hope you understand? But I’m glad you asked me straight out, as you did. It was friendly of you, and I’m grateful.’
‘You mean that?’ he said quickly. ‘You don’t imagine—you don’t think I’m a rotter, by any chance?’
‘If I’d thought that, I’d have——’
‘Rung the bell and had me slung out?’ he chuckled. ‘Now, look here, let’s get down to brass tacks. You say you can’t repay me. Rot! I’m asking you because, if I go by myself, I’ll be thoroughly fed up. My name’s Gilmour—Alan Gilmour. May I call for you here? Say, about seven thirty. I vote we have some dinner first, and——’
She was shaking her head. ‘I can’t accept, Mr. Gilmour.’
He began to protest, but stopped short, for a knock had sounded on the outer door. And once more he saw the same look of apprehension leap to her eyes, and her whole body seemed to stiffen. What on earth was she scared about, he wondered? . . .
He noticed that she carefully closed the door of the little office behind her. It wasn’t until after a perceptible pause that he heard the outer door opening, a few words were exchanged, and she returned with a long sealed envelope, which she tossed on the table. Clearly, what she had been anticipating was still to come. . . . Her lips were pale, and for the moment she seemed oblivious of his presence.
‘Look here,’ he said, plucking up courage. ‘I can see you’re a bit worried about something. If I can be of any help——’
‘It’s nothing, nothing at all—at least, nothing that you could . . .’ She had half turned away; but of a sudden she spun round and faced him in a keen, anxious scrutiny. What was passing through her mind he couldn’t tell. Then she drew in a long, uneasy breath, and her clasped hands fell apart in a little gesture of helplessness.
‘Mr. Gilmour,’ she said in a low voice, ‘if your invitation for to-night is still open, I’ll be glad to come!’
CHAPTER III
ELIZABETH MARLOWE
‘And I wonder,’ said Alan Gilmour as he knotted his white tie before the mirror, ‘I wonder exactly what I’ve let myself in for!’
It was now half-past six, and he was to meet Sir Richard Templeton’s secretary in an hour’s time. There was no cause for him to hurry, and he let his thoughts drift pleasantly. It seemed almost incredible that last night he’d slept on board an ocean liner which had slid up the Solent through the darkness and the slowly melting fog. He felt as if he’d been back in London for months, and the sights and sounds of it had already faded into the limbo of accepted things. If he had been told at luncheon that he was to dine that night with a beautiful girl who was a complete stranger to him he would have laughed at the notion. . . . In fact, ‘complete stranger’ was no exaggeration, and this made the step he was taking all the more reckless. Her name was Elizabeth Marlowe, she had told him, but beyond the fact that she was Sir Richard Templeton’s secretary he knew nothing whatever about her; and at a quarter-past seven he set out for Mercier’s, the little restaurant near Piccadilly where he had promised to meet her, wondering what on earth the evening was to bring forth.