Sabin grasped the fact that the servants had
been tampered with. Without wasting any more time he took a
somewhat hurried leave and drove back to the hotel. One of the
hall porters approached him, smiling.
"There is a lady waiting for you in your rooms, sir," he announced.
"She arrived a few minutes ago."
Mr. Sabin rang for the elevator, got out at his floor and walked
down the corridor, leaning a little more heavily than usual upon
his stick. If indeed it were Lucille who had braved all and come
to him the way before them might still be smooth sailing. He
would never let her go again. He was sure of that. They would
leave England--yes, there was time still to catch the five o'clock
train. He turned the handle of his door and entered. A familiar
figure rose from the depths of his easy-chair. Her hat lay on the
table, her jacket was open, one of his cigarettes was between her
lips. But it was not Lucille.
"Lady Carey!" he said slowly. "This is an unexpected pleasure.
Have you brought Lucille with you?"
"I am afraid," she answered, "that I have no ropes strong enough."
"You insinuate," he remarked, "that Lucille would be unwilling to
come."
"There is no longer any need," she declared, with a hard little
laugh, "for insinuations. We have all been turned out from Dorset
House neck and crop.
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