“I have a reason,” replied Paul Harley, “but don’t misunderstand me. I suggest nothing against Mr. Camber. I should be glad, however, to know if you are acquainted with him?”
“We have never met.”
“You possibly know him by repute?”
“I have heard of him, Mr. Harley. But to be perfectly frank, I have little in common with citizens of the United States.”
A note of arrogance, which at times crept into his high, thin voice, became perceptible now, and the aristocratic, aquiline face looked very supercilious.
How the conversation would have developed I know not, but at this moment Pedro entered and delivered a message in Spanish to the Colonel, whereupon the latter arose and with very profuse apologies begged permission to leave us for a few moments.
When he had retired:
“I am going upstairs to write a letter, Knox,” said Paul Harley. “Carry on with your old duties to-day, your new ones do not commence until to-morrow.”
With that he laughed and walked out of the dining room, leaving me wondering whether to be grateful or annoyed. However, it did not take me long to find my way to the drawing room where the two ladies were seated side by side upon a settee, Madame’s chair having been wheeled into a corner.
“Ah, Mr. Knox,” exclaimed Madame as I entered, “have the others deserted, then?”
“Scarcely deserted, I think. They are merely straggling.”
“Absent without leave,” murmured Val Beverley.
I laughed, and drew up a chair. Madame de Stämer was smoking, but Miss Beverley was not. Accordingly,
