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Page 12
"Possibly, sir," was Morris's only answer.
Inspector Gatton stared hard at the man for a moment or so, then:
"Very well," he said. "Take my advice and turn in. There will be much
for you to do presently, I am afraid. Who was Sir Marcus's solicitor?"
Morris gave the desired information in a tired, toneless voice, and we
departed. Little did Gatton realize that his words were barbed, when,
as we descended to the street, he said:
"I have a call to make at Scotland Yard next, after which my first
visit will be to the stage-doorkeeper of the New Avenue Theater."
"Can I be of further assistance to you at the moment?" I asked,
endeavoring to speak casually.
"Thanks, no. But I should welcome your company this afternoon at my
examination of the Red House. I understand that it is in your
neighborhood, so perhaps as you are also professionally interested in
the case, you might arrange to meet me there. Are you returning home
now or going to the _Planet_ office?"
"I think to the office," I replied. "In any event 'phone there making
an appointment and I will meet you at the Red House."
CHAPTER IV
ISOBEL
Ten minutes later I was standing in a charming little boudoir which
too often figured in my daydreams. My own photograph was upon the
mantelpiece, and in Isobel's dark eyes when she greeted me there was a
light which I lacked the courage to try to understand. I had not at
that time learned what I learned later, and have already indicated,
that my own foolish silence had wounded Isobel as deeply as her
subsequent engagement to Eric Coverly had wounded me.
The psychology of a woman is intriguing in its very na�vet�, and now
as she stood before me, slim and graceful in her well-cut walking
costume, a quick flicker of red flaming in her cheeks and her eyes
alight with that sweet tantalizing look in which expectation and a hot
pride were mingled, I wondered and felt sick at heart. Desirable she
was beyond any other woman I had known, and I called myself witling
coward, to have avoided putting my fortune to the test on that fatal
day of my departure for Mesopotamia. For just as she looked at me now
she had looked at me then. But to-day she was evidently on the point
of setting out--I did not doubt with the purpose of meeting Eric
Coverly; on that day of the irrevocable past she had been free and I
had been silent.
"You nearly missed me, Jack," she said gayly. "I was just going out."
By the very good-fellowship of her greeting she restored me to myself
and enabled me to stamp down--at least temporarily--the monster
through whose greedy eyes I had found myself considering the happiness
of Eric Coverly.
"I am afraid, Isobel," I replied, "that what I have to tell you is not
by any means pleasant--although--"
"Yes?" she prompted, noting how I hesitated.
"Although it means that you are now the future Lady Coverly."
The bright color left her cheeks. That some black tragedy underlay my
words she had intuitively perceived, but I could see that she failed
to grasp the whole meaning of my bald statement. She sank down slowly
into a cushioned chair, so that a beam of golden light pouring in
through the opened window set aglowing the russet tints in her dark
brown hair.
"Did you know Sir Marcus?" I asked, speaking as gently as I could.
With what intense, if hidden, emotion I awaited her answer it were
impossible to describe.
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