he appears to have strayed on the night in question.
"Dear me," cried the Marchioness, her agitation increasing. "No one knows I am here. How on earth— Here, boy!"
A note was delivered to her. It was from Thomas Trotter. Her face brightened as she glanced swiftly through the scrawl.
"Splendid!" she exclaimed. "It is from Mr. Trotter. He is waiting outside with his automobile."
She passed the note to Jane, whose colour deepened. De Bosky drew a deep breath of relief, and, cheered beyond measure by her reassuring words, strode off, his head erect, his white teeth showing in a broad smile.
Trotter wrote: "It is raining cats and dogs. I have the car outside. The family is at the theatre. Don't hurry. I can wait until 10:15. If you are not ready to come away by that time, you will find my friend Joe Glimm hanging about in front of the café,—drenched to the skin, I'll wager. You will recall him as the huge person I introduced to you recently as from Constantinople. Just put yourselves under his wing if anything happens. He is jolly well able to protect you. I know who's in there, but don't be uneasy. He will not dare molest you."
"Shall I keep it for you?" asked Jane, her eyes shining.
"I fancy it was intended for you, my dear," said the other drily.
"How very interesting," observed Mr. Hendricks, who occasionally offered some such remark as his contribution to the gaiety of the evening. He had found it to be a perfectly safe shot, even when fired at random.
