He looked at her in amazement.
"What, with Letty Foulton!" he exclaimed.
"Why not?" she asked.
He drew a breath through his teeth. He could scarcely trust himself to speak for anger.
"You--are not serious?" he permitted himself to ask.
"Why not?" she demanded.
Hurd struggled to express himself with dignity.
"I should not consider such a marriage a suitable one, even if I were thinking of marrying at all," he said.
She raised her eyebrows.
"No? Well, I suppose you know best," she said carelessly. "Is there anything fresh down at Thorpe?"
She was angry about that fool of a girl, he told himself. A good sign.
But what an actress! His conceit barely kept him up.
"There really isn"t anything I couldn"t arrange with Mr. Fields," he admitted. "I thought, perhaps, as I was up, you might have some special instructions. That is why I sent to ask if you would see me."
He looked at her almost eagerly. After all, she was the same woman who had been kind to him at Thorpe. And yet, was she? A sudden thought startled him. She was changed. Had she guessed that he knew her secret?
"No!" she said deliberately. "I do not think that there is anything. If you could find out Mr. Macheson"s address I should be much obliged."
Hurd was puzzled. This was the second time. What could she have to say to Macheson?
"He was here last night, but I forgot to ask him," she continued equably.
"Macheson, here!" he exclaimed.
"It was he who brought the girl, Letty," she said.
He was silent for a moment.
"He"s a queer lot," he said. "Came to Thorpe, of all places, as a sort of missioner, and he was about town last night most immaculately got up; nothing of the parson about him, I can a.s.sure you."
"No!" she answered quietly. "Well, if you can discover his address, remember I should be glad to hear it."
He took up his hat reluctantly. He had hoped at least that he might have been asked to luncheon. It was obvious, however, that he was expected to depart, and he did so. On the whole, although he had escaped from an exceedingly awkward situation, he could scarcely consider his visit a success. On his way out he pa.s.sed Deyes, stepping out of a cab piled up with luggage. He nodded to Hurd in a friendly manner.
"Miss Thorpe-Hatton in?" he asked.
"Just left her," Hurd answered.
Deyes pa.s.sed on, and was received by the butler as a favoured guest. He was shown at once into the morning-room.
CHAPTER XIX
A REPORT FROM PARIS
"For the first time in my life," Deyes declared, accepting the cigarette and the easy-chair, "I have appreciated Paris. I have gone there as a tourist. I have drunk strange drinks at the Cafe de la Paix. I have sat upon the boulevards and ogled the obvious lady."
"And my little guide?" she asked.
"Has disappeared!" he answered.
"Since when?"
"A month ago! It is reported that he came to England."
Wilhelmina sat still for several moments. To a casual observer she might have seemed unmoved. Deyes, however, was watching her closely, and he understood.
"I am sorry," he said, "to have so little to tell you. But that is the beginning and the end of it. The man had gone away."
"That is precisely what I desired to ascertain," she said. "It seemed to me possible that the man had come to England. I wished to know for certain whether it was true or not."
"I think," Deyes said, withdrawing his cigarette and looking at it thoughtfully, "that it is true."
"You have any further reason for thinking so," she asked, "beyond your casual inquiries?"
"Well, yes!" he admitted. "I went a little farther than those casual inquiries. It seemed such a meagre report to bring you."
"Go on!"
"The ordinary person," he continued smoothly, "would never believe the extreme difficulty with which one collects any particulars as to the home life of a guide. More than once I felt inclined to give up the task in despair. It seemed to me that a guide could have no home, that he must sleep in odd moments on a bench at the _Hotel de Luxe_. I tried to fancy a guide in the bosom of his family, carving a Sunday joint, and surrounded by Mrs. Guide and the little Guides. I couldn"t do it. It seemed to me somehow grotesque. Just as I was giving it up in despair, the commissionaire at a night cafe in Montmartre told me exactly what I wanted to know. He showed me the house where Johnny, as they called him, had a room."
"You went there?" she asked.
"I did," he answered.
"It was locked up?"
"On the contrary," he declared, "Mrs. or Miss Guide was at home, and very pleased to see me."
"There was a woman there?"
"a.s.suredly. Whether she is there now or not I cannot say, for it is three days ago, and to me she seemed nearer than that to death!"
"And about this woman! What was she like? Was she his wife or his daughter?"