Tales of Mystery & Suspense: 25+ Thrillers in One Edition. E. Phillips Oppenheim

expect from this horrible Government!” Mrs. Benedek exclaimed indignantly.

      “What do you know about the Government?” he asked. “Are you taking up politics as well as the study of the higher auction?”

      She sighed, and her eyes were fixed upon him very earnestly, as she declared: “You do not understand me, my friend. You never did. I am not altogether frivolous; I am not altogether an artist. I have my serious moments.”

      “Is this going to be one of them?”

      “Don’t make fun of me, please,” she begged, “You are like so many Englishmen. Directly a woman tries to talk seriously, you will push her back into her place. You like to treat her as something to frivol with and make love to. Is it your amour propre which is wounded, when you feel sometimes forced to admit that she has as clear an insight into the more important things of life as you yourself?”

      “Do you talk like that with Baring?” he asked.

      For several seconds she was silent. Her eyes had contracted a little. She seemed to be seeking for some double meaning in his words.

      “Captain Baring is an intelligent man,” she said, “and he is a man, too, who understands his own particular subject. Of course it is a pleasure to talk to him about it.”

      “I thought navy men, as a rule,” he remarked, “were not communicative.”

      “Do you call it communicative,” she enquired, “to discuss the subject you love best with your greatest friend? But let us not talk any more of Captain Baring. It is in you just now that I am interested, you and your future. You seem to think that your friends at the Foreign Office are not going to find you another position—for some time, at any rate. You are not one of those men who think of nothing but sport and amusing themselves. What are you going to do during the next few months?”

      “At present,” he confessed thoughtfully, “I have only the vaguest ideas. Perhaps you could help me.”

      “Perhaps I could,” she admitted. “We will talk of that another time, if you like.”

      It was obvious that she was speaking under a certain tension. The silence which ensued was significant.

      “Why not now?” he asked.

      “It is too soon,” she answered, “and you would not understand. I might say things to you which would perhaps end our friendship, which would give you a wrong impression. No, let us stay just as we are for a little time.”

      “This is most tantalising,” grumbled Norgate.

      She leaned over and patted his hand.

      “Have patience, my friend,” she whispered. “The great things come to those who wait.”

      An interruption, commonplace enough, yet in its way startling, checked the words which were already upon his lips. The telephone bell from the little instrument on the table within a few feet of them, rang insistently. For a moment Mrs. Benedek herself appeared taken by surprise. Then she raised the receiver to her ear.

      “My friend,” she said to Norgate, “you must excuse me. I told them distinctly to disconnect the instrument so that it rang only in my bedroom. I am disobeyed, but no matter. Who is that?”

      Norgate leaned back in his place. His companion’s little interjection, however, was irresistible. He glanced towards her. There was a slight flush of colour in her cheeks, her head was moving slowly as though keeping pace to the words spoken at the other end. Suddenly she laughed.

      “Do not be so foolish,” she said. “Yes, of course. You keep your share of the bargain and I mine. At eight o’clock, then. I will say no more now, as I am engaged with a visitor. Au revoir!”

      She set down the receiver and turned towards Norgate, who was turning the pages of an illustrated paper. She made a little grimace.

      “Oh, but life is very queer!” she declared. “How I love it! Now I am going to make you look glum, if indeed you do care just that little bit which is all you know of caring. Perhaps you will be a little disappointed. Tell me that you are, or my vanity will be hurt. Listen and prepare. To-night I cannot dine with you.”

      He turned deliberately around. “You are going to throw me over?” he demanded, looking at her steadfastly.

      “To throw you over, dear friend,” she repeated cheerfully. “You would do just the same, if you were in my position.”

      “It is an affair of duty,” he persisted, “or the triumph of a rival?”

      She made a grimace at him. “It is an affair of duty,” she admitted, “but it is certainly with a rival that I must dine.”

      He moved a little nearer to her on the lounge.

      “Tell me on your honour,” he said, “that you are not dining with Baring, and I will forgive!”

      For a moment she seemed as though she were summoning all her courage to tell the lie which he half expected. Instead she changed her mind.

      “Do not be unkind,” she begged. “I am dining with Captain Baring. The poor man is distracted. You know that I cannot bear to hurt people. Be kind this once. You may take my engagement book, you may fill it up as you will, but to-night I must dine with him. Consider, my friend. You may have many months before you in London. Captain Baring finishes his work at the Admiralty to-day, and leaves for Portsmouth to-morrow morning. He may not be in London again for some time. I promised him long ago that I would dine with him to-night on one condition. That condition he is keeping. I cannot break my word.”

      Norgate rose gloomily to his feet.

      “Of course,” he said, “I don’t want to be unreasonable, and any one can see the poor fellow is head over ears in love with you.”

      She took his arm as she led him towards the door.

      “Listen,” she promised, laughing into his face, “when you are as much in love with me as he is, I will put off every other engagement I have in the world, and I will dine with you. You understand? We shall meet later at the club, I hope. Until then, au revoir!”

      Norgate hailed a taxi outside and was driven at once to the nearest telephone call office. There, after some search in the directory, he rang up a number and enquired for Captain Baring. There was a delay of about five minutes. Then Baring spoke from the other end of the telephone.

      “Who is it wants me?” he enquired, rather impatiently.

      “Are you Baring?” Norgate asked, deepening his voice a little.

      “Yes! Who are you?”

      “I am a friend,” Norgate answered slowly.

      “What the devil do you mean by ‘a friend’?” was the irritated reply. “I am engaged here most particularly.”

      “There can be nothing so important,” Norgate declared, “as the warning I am charged to give to you. Remember that it is a friend who speaks. There is a train about five o’clock to Portsmouth. Your work is finished. Take that train and stay away from London.”

      Norgate set down the receiver without listening to the tangle of exclamations from the other end, and walked quickly out of the shop. He re-entered his taxi.

      “The St. James’s Club,” he ordered.

      CHAPTER XIII

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      Norgate found Selingman in the little drawing-room of the club, reclining in an easy-chair, a small cup of black coffee by his side. He appeared to be exceedingly irate at the performance of his partner in a recent rubber, and he seized upon Norgate as a possibly sympathetic confidant.

      “Listen to me