“As Mr. X,” came the reply—immediately. “I prefer to retain my incognito—you know that.”
Carruthers caressed his cheek with his fingers. “I didn’t bargain for this when I brought you along—you know. And Sheila’s a thoroughbred—I shouldn’t like anything——”
His companion squared his shoulders with an unmistakable dignity. “There is more than one attribute of aristocracy, Major,” he murmured quietly. “I—of all people——”
Carruthers rose from his chair. “I know the truth of that,” he declared. “I’ve knocked about too much not to realise that. Come along—let’s find Sheila—time’s getting on.”
The other rose after him—debonair and distinguished—and followed him through the thronging press of the dancers congregated in the vestibule of the ballroom. He looked at his watch. It showed a few minutes past ten.
“She’s dancing,” said the Major.
“Superbly too,” said the other.
The two men waited for the dance to finish. “Come,” said Carruthers, touching the other’s sleeve, “it’s now or never.”
Sheila Delaney saw them coming and did not wait for them to complete the distance of their approach. Instead she made her apologies to her young partner and came forward herself to meet them. Thus it was that the encounter materialised in the middle of the room.
“Sheila,” exclaimed Carruthers, “my friend here is something more than anxious to make your acquaintance. But for important reasons of his own, which must be nameless—he desires you to know him as Mr. X. Strictly speaking you see, he is not supposed to be here at all—therefore I submit to this whim of his.” He effected the introduction. “Talk to him for a few moments, Sheila,” he added, “you will find him as intriguing and as mysterious as the name under which he is temporarily cloaking his identity. I’ll return when I think you’ve been sufficiently entertained.” He waved his hand and slithered away across the dance-floor. Sheila Delaney looked at the man who had sought her out. He indicated two of the lounge seats that were arranged at the side of the ballroom.