"Sounds interesting," Ennison remarked. "May I hear?"

"It really isn't much to tell," Drummond answered. "You know what a fearful old prig Ferringhall is, always goes about as though the whole world were watching him? We tried to show him around Paris, but he wouldn't have any of it. Talked about his years, his position and his const.i.tuents, and always sneaked off back to his hotel just when the fun was going to begin. Well one night, some of us saw him, or thought we saw him, at a cafe dining with 'Alcide,'--as a matter of fact, it seems that it was her sister. He came into the club next day, and of course we went for him thick. Jove, he didn't take to it kindly, I can tell you. Stood on his dignity and shut us up in great style. It seems that he was a sort of family friend of the Pellissiers, and it was the artist sister whom he was with. The joke of it is that he's married to her now, and cuts me dead."

"I suppose," Ennison said, "the likeness between the sisters must be rather exceptional?"

"I never saw the goody-goody one close to, so I can't say," Drummond answered. "Certainly I was a little way off at the cafe, and she had a hat and veil on, but I could have sworn that it was 'Alcide.'"

"Is 'Alcide' still in Paris?" Ennison asked.

"Don't think so," Drummond answered. "I heard the other day that she'd been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. Anyhow, she's disappeared for some reason or other. Perhaps Ferringhall has pensioned her off. He's the sort of johnny who wouldn't care about having a sister-in-law on the loose."

"Ennison here thought he saw her in London," Meddoes remarked.

Drummond nodded.

"Very likely. The two sisters were very fond of one another, I believe. Perhaps Sir John is going to take the other one under his wing. Who's for a rubber of whist?"

Ennison made so many mistakes that he was glad to cut out early in the evening. He walked across the Park and called upon his sister.

"Is Lady Lescelles in?" he asked the butler.

"Her ladyship dined at home," the man answered. "I have just ordered a carriage for her. I believe that her ladyship is going to Carey House, and on to the Marquis of Waterford's ball," he added, hastily consulting a diary on the hall table.

A tall elegantly dressed woman, followed by a maid, came down the broad staircase.

"Is that you, Nigel?" she asked. "I hope you are going to Carey House."

He shook his head, and threw open the door of a great dimly-lit apartment on the ground floor.

"Come in here a moment, will you, Blanche," he said. "I want to speak to you."

She a.s.sented, smiling. He was her only brother, and she his favourite sister. He closed the door.

"I want to ask you a question," he said. "A serious question."

She stopped b.u.t.toning her glove, and looked at him.

"Well?"

"You and all the rest of them are always lamenting that I do not marry. Supposing I made up my mind to marry some one of good enough family, but who was in a somewhat doubtful position, concerning whose antecedents, in fact there was a certain amount of scandal. Would you stand by me--and her?"

"My dear Nigel!" she exclaimed. "Are you serious?"

"You know very well that I should never joke on such a subject. Mind, I am antic.i.p.ating events. Nothing is settled upon. It may be, it probably will all come to, nothing. But I want to know whether in such an event you would stand by me?"

She held out her hand.

"You can count upon me, Nigel," she said. "But for you Dad would never have let me marry Lescelles. He was only a younger son, and you know what trouble we had. I am with you through thick and thin, Nigel."

He kissed her, and handed her into the carriage. Then he went back to his rooms and lit a cigar.

"There are two things to be done," he said softly to himself. "The first is to discover what she is here for, and where she is staying.

The second is to somehow meet Lady Ferringhall. These fellows must be right," he added thoughtfully, "and yet--there's a mystery somewhere."

_Chapter XII_

THE POSTER OF "ALCIDE"

On Sat.u.r.day mornings there was deposited on the plate of each guest at breakfast time, a long folded paper with Mrs. White's compliments.

Anna thrust hers into her pocket unopened, and for the first time left the house without a smile upon her face. She was practically dest.i.tute of jewellery. The few pence left in her purse would only provide a very scanty lunch. Another day of non-success would mean many disagreeable things.

And even she was forced to admit to herself that this last resource of hers was a slender reed on which to lean. She mounted the stairs of the theatrical agent's office with very much less than her usual buoyancy, nor did she find much encouragement in the general appearance of the room into which she was shown. There was already a score or more of people there, some standing up and talking together, others seated in chairs ranged along the wall. Beyond was another door, on which was painted in black letters:

MR. EARLES, Strictly Private

Every one stared at Anna. Anna stared back at every one with undaunted composure. A young man with shiny frock coat and very high collar, advanced towards her languidly.

"Want to see Mr. Earles?" he inquired.

"I do," Anna answered. "Here is my card. Will you take it in to him?"

The young man smiled in a superior manner.

"Have to take your turn," he remarked laconically. "There's twenty before you, and Mr. Earles is going out at twelve sharp--important engagement. Better come another morning."

"Thank you," Anna answered. "I will take my chance."

She removed some posters from a chair, and seated herself coolly. The young man looked at her.

"Unless you have an appointment, which you haven't," he said, "you'll only waste your time here."

"I can spare it," Anna answered suavely.

The young man entered into a lively little war of words with a yellow-haired young person near the door. Anna picked up an ancient magazine, and began to turn over the pages in a leisurely way. The conversation which her entrance had interrupted began to buzz again all around her. A quarter of an hour pa.s.sed. Then the inner door opened abruptly. A tall, clean-shaven man came out and walked rapidly through the room, exchanging greetings right and left, but evidently anxious to avoid being detained. Mr. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his b.u.t.ton-hole. A florid-looking young woman rose up and accosted him eagerly.

"I'm next, Mr. Earles," she exclaimed. "Been sitting on the doorstep almost for two hours."

"In a minute, in a minute," he answered, his eyes fixed upon Anna.

"Reuben, come here."

The young man obeyed the summons. His employer retreated into the further apartment, leaving the door ajar.

"What's that young lady's name--girl in dark brown, stranger here?"

Mr. Earles asked sharply.