The Complete Detective Sgt. Elk Series (6 Novels in One Edition). Edgar Wallace

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      At precisely ten o’clock, as the curtain came reefing slowly down upon the first act of I Pagliacci, Lady Dinsmore turned with outstretched hand to greet a newcomer who had just entered the box.

      “My dear count,” she exclaimed, “I am disappointed in you! Here I have been paying you really quite tremendous compliments to these young people — which for an old woman, you know, is very proper — and you show your complete indifference to me by committing the worst crime in the calendar!”

      “I am desolated!” The stranger who was bowing over her hand, a trifle lower than an Englishman would have done, was slender and distinguished looking, faultlessly dressed, and wearing a bunch of Parma violets. He had a way of looking at one gravely with an air of concentrated attention, as if he were seeing through the words, into the very soul of the speaker. He was, indeed, a wonderful listener, and this quality, added to a certain boyish candour of temperament, accounted perhaps for Count Poltavo’s popularity in society.

      “Before I ask you to name the crime, Lady Dinsmore,” he said, “or to inform me if the calendar is a lady’s, permit me to offer my humblest apologies for my lateness.” Lady Dinsmore shook her head at him.

      “You are incorrigible!” she declared. “But sit down and make your excuses at your leisure. You know my niece, and I think you have met Mr. Van Ingen. He is one of our future diplomats.” The count bowed and sank into a chair beside his hostess.

      Van Ingen, after a frigidly polite acknowledgment, resumed his conversation with Doris rather eagerly, and Lady Dinsmore turned to her companion.

      “Now for the explanation,” she exclaimed briskly. “I shall not let you off! Unpunctuality is a crime, and your punishment shall be to confess its cause.”

      Count Poltavo bent toward her with bright, smiling eyes.

      “A very stupid and foolish business engagement,” he replied, “which required my personal attendance. Shall I give you the details? I warn you in advance they will bore you frightfully! They did me.”

      Lady Dinsmore threw up a protesting hand.

      “Pray spare me,” she begged. “Business has no charms to soothe my savage breast! Grayson,” she lowered her voice confidentially, “can talk of nothing else. When he was with me, he was forever telegraphing, cabling to America, or decoding messages. There was no peace in the house, by day or by night. Finally I made a stand. ‘Gerald,’ I said, ‘you shall not pervert my servants with your odious tips, and turn my home into a public stock-exchange. Take your bulls and bears over to the Savoy and play with them there, and leave Doris to me.’ And he did!” she concluded triumphantly.

      Count Poltavo looked about, as if noting for the first time the man’s absence. “Where is he now?” he enquired.

      Lady Dinsmore shrugged her shoulders.

      “He is — ill! Frankly, I think he had a slight indisposition, and magnified it in order to escape. He hates music. Doris has been quite distrait ever since. The child adores her father.”

      Her companion glanced across to the subject of their remarks. The girl sat in the front of the box, slim and elegant, her hands clasped loosely in her lap. She was watching the brilliant scene with a certain air of detachment, as if thinking of other things. Her usual lightness and gay banter seemed for the moment to have deserted her, leaving a soft brooding wistfulness that was strangely appealing.

      The count looked long at her.

      “She is very beautiful,” he murmured under his breath.

      Something in his voice caught Lady Dinsmore’s attention. She eyed him keenly. The count met her look frankly.

      “Is — is she engaged to her young friend?” he asked quietly. “Believe me, it is not vulgar curiosity which prompts the question. I — I am — interested.”

      His voice was as composed as ever, but a slight pallor spread across his countenance. Lady Dinsmore averted her gaze hurriedly and thought with lightning rapidity.

      “I have not her confidence,” she replied at length in a low tone. “She is a wise young woman and keeps her own counsel.” She appeared to hesitate. “She dislikes you,” she added. “I am sorry to wound you, but it is no secret.” Count Poltavo nodded. “I know,” he said simply. “Will you be my very good friend and tell me why?”

      Lady Dinsmore smiled. “I will do better than that,” she said kindly. “I will be your very good friend and give you a chance to ask her why. Cord,” she bent forward and tapped the young man upon the shoulder’with her fan, “will you come over here and tell me what your chief means by permitting all this dreadful war-talk with Japan. Is it true that you Americans are going to fight those pleasant little men?”

      The count resigned his seat courteously, and took the vacant place beside the girl. A silence fell between them, which presently the man broke.

      “Miss Grayson,” he began gravely, “your aunt kindly gave me this opportunity to ask you a question. Have I your permission also?”

      The girl arched her brows at him. Her lip curled ever so slightly.

      “A question to which you and my Aunt Patricia could find no answer between you! It must be subtle indeed! How can I hope to succeed?”

      He ignored her sarcasm. “Because it concerns yourself, mademoiselle.”

      “Ah!” She drew herself up and regarded him with sparkling eyes. One small foot began to tap the floor ominously. Then she broke into a vexed little laugh.

      “I am no match for you with the foils, count. I admit it, freely. I should have learned by this time that you never say what you mean, or mean what you say.”

      “Forgive me, Miss Grayson, if I say that you mistake me utterly. I mean always what I say — most of all to you. But to say all that I mean. — To put into speech all that one hopes or dreams — or dares—” his voice dropped to a whisper—” to turn oneself inside out like an empty pocket to the gaze of the multitude — that is — imbecile.”

      He threw out his hands with an expressive gesture.

      “But to speak concretely — I have unhappily offended you, Miss Grayson. Something I have done —

      “Miss Grayson,” he began gravely, “your aunt kindly gave me this opportunity to ask you a question. Have I your permission also?”

      The girl arched her brows at him. Her lip curled ever so slightly.

      “A question to which you and my Aunt Patricia could find no answer between you! It must be subtle indeed! How can I hope to succeed?”

      He ignored her sarcasm. “Because it concerns yourself, mademoiselle.”

      “Ah!” She drew herself up and regarded him with sparkling eyes. One small foot began to tap the floor ominously. Then she broke into a vexed little laugh.

      “I am no match for you with the foils, count. I admit it, freely. I should have learned by this time that you never say what you mean, or mean what you say.”

      “Forgive me, Miss Grayson, if I say that you mistake me utterly. I mean always what I say — most of all to you. But to say all that I mean. — To put into speech all that one hopes or dreams — or dares—” his voice dropped to a whisper—” to turn oneself inside out like an empty pocket to the gaze of the multitude — that is — imbecile.” He threw out his hands with an expressive gesture.

      “But to speak concretely — I have unhappily offended you, Miss Grayson. Something I have done or left undone — or my unfortunate personality does not engage your interest? Is it not true?”

      There was no mistaking his almost passionate sincerity now, held in check by the man’s invincible composure.

      But the girl still held aloof,