'Whom did you say, Miss Malpas?' asked Mr. Reuben.
'Mr. Lionel Belmont—at least, that's what he calls himself.'
'Calls himself, Miss Malpas?'
'Here's one of the telegrams.'
Mr. Reuben read it, looked at little Nina, and smiled; he never laughed.
'Is it possible, Miss Malpas,' said he, 'that you don't know who Mr. Belmont and Mr. Pank are?' And then, as she shook her head, he continued in his impassive, precise way: 'Mr. Belmont is one of the principal theatrical managers in the United States. Mr. Pank is one of the principal playwrights in the United States. Mr. Pank's melodrama 'Nebraska' is now being played at the Regency by Mr. Belmont's own American company. Another of Mr. Belmont's companies starts shortly for a tour in the provinces with the musical comedy 'The Dolmenico Doll.' I believe that Mr. Pank and Mr. Belmont are now writing a new melodrama, and as they have both been travelling, but not together, I expect that these telegrams relate to that melodrama. Did you suppose that safe-burglars wire their plans to each other like this?' He waved the telegram with a gesture of fatigue.
Silly, ruined Nina made no answer.
'Do you ever read the papers—the Telegraph or the Mail, Miss Malpas?'
'N-no, sir.'
'You ought to, then you wouldn't be so ignorant and silly. A hotel-clerk can't know too much. And, by-the-way, what were you doing in Mr. Belmont's room last night, when you found these wonderful telegrams?'