These words were distinctly heard by Audrey herself.
“I think I’ll slip upstairs now,” she murmured to Madame Piriac. And vanished, before Mr. Gilman had observed her presence.
She thought:
“How he has aged!”
Scarcely ten minutes later, when Audrey was upstairs in her sitting-room, waiting idly for the luggage and her husband to arrive, and thinking upon the case of Lady Southminster, the telephone bell rang out startlingly.
“Mr. Shinner to see you.”
“Mr. Shinner? Oh! Mr. Shinner. Send him up, please.”
This Mr. Shinner was the concert agent with connections in Paris whom Audrey had first consulted in the enterprise of launching Musa upon the French public. He was a large, dark man, black moustached and bearded, with heavy limbs and features, and an opaque, pimpled skin. In spite of these characteristics, he entered the room soft-footed as a fairy, ingratiating as a dog aware of his own iniquity, reassuring as applause.
“Well, Mr. Shinner. But how did you know we were here? As a matter of fact we aren’t here. My husband has not arrived yet.”
“Madam,” said Mr. Shinner, “I happened to hear that you had telegraphed for rooms, and as I was in the neighbourhood I thought I would venture to call.”