“Well, you’re wrong. Good-night.”
At twelve o’clock the next day I called in Curzon Street, and sent in my card to Lady Daynesborough.
She saw me at once. I expect that she fancied I had something to do with her husband’s sudden departure. She was looking pale and dispirited, and I rather thought she had been crying. Her husband, it appeared, had told her that he had to go to Paris on business, and would be back in three days.
“He didn’t tell you what it was?”
“No. Some public affairs, I understood.”
“Lady Daynesborough,” said I, “you hardly know me, but my name tells you I am a gentleman.”
She looked at me in surprise.
“Why, of course, Mr. Jason. But what has that to do——”
“I can’t explain. But, if you are wise, you will come with me to Paris.”
“Go with you to Paris! Oh! is he in danger?”