Mrs. Norton, The Laurels, Bayswater.
“Mrs. Norton is a lady of fashion,” the detective remarked, “and her place is well known. If you do not object, Sir Harold, I prefer to discuss the remaining business in the Café Royal. It is close here, and I have a private room upstairs. We never know who is spying about.”
He stepped briskly along, and suddenly turned into a low archway facing Trafalgar Square. He opened a door with his passkey, and ran up three flights of stairs, at the top of which was a small, dingy-looking room.
“Now, sir,” he went on, “one touch upon this electric button and a waiter appears. I intend having coffee—black and strong. It is the best nerve sedative I know of.”
“Order two cups,” said Annesley. “I shall not detain you five minutes with the new business.”
“And then?”
“I am going direct to Bayswater.” Mr. Asbury smiled grimly. He had not told his client all that he knew.
The coffee was promptly served, and Sir Harold began, briefly:
“It is possible, Mr. Asbury, that you have heard something of the idle gossip concerning myself and Lady Elaine Seabright?”
“I know the whole story from beginning to end, Sir Harold. Even to the later scheming of a swell named Rivington to secure the late earl’s fortune by a marriage between himself and Lady Elaine.”