“Very seldom—but I’m sorely tempted to dance to-night.” His eyes held a depth of meaning.
“That’s very charming of you,” she remarked, “and if you’re anything like me—and I’m sure you are in some things—you delight in yielding to temptation.” Her eyes caught his and challenged them. They were—he concluded—in a quite breathless summing up—rather extraordinary eyes. Quickly changing colour, at this precise moment they seemed to be flecked with strange shades of light green. They were challenging his now with an allurement of demure and dainty invitation. She rose and placed her finger-tips on his broad shoulder. “I’m convinced you dance beautifully,” she murmured as they stepped off to the rhythm of the Red Ruritanians, “so don’t attempt to deny it.”
It did not take Sheila Delaney long to realise that her conviction was right. Her companion proved a worthy partner for her. She looked at him provocatively. “Why have you no business to be here, Mr. X?” she queried softly.
He shook his head. Then the Spirit of Audacity and Adventure caught him and held him securely captive. “One day—perhaps, I’ll tell you,” he declared, “till then, you must possess your soul in patience.”
“Supposing I don’t choose to wait?” She summoned all her resources of disdain to her aid and let it tinge her question. Her partner merely shrugged his ample shoulders. “If you continue to surround yourself with this dreadfully mysterious atmosphere,” she went on, “I shall begin to think that I’m dancing with the guest of the evening—His Royal Highness, The Crown Prince of Clorania—one never quite knows.” She looked at him with arch invitation—so much so that Alan Warburton from the end of the room felt suddenly murderous as he watched her laughing face and the broad back of her partner. But her curiosity was to remain unsatisfied. Mr. X was apparently in no mood for the exchange of confidences. He looked at her with a smile that conveyed a mysterious much, yet confessed a negligible nothing. Carruthers threw her silk shawl across her shoulders when she returned to her seat—the dance over; then he turned to the other man a little critically.
“You didn’t tell me you intended to dance,” he exclaimed. “That wasn’t part——”
“Blame Miss Delaney,” came the unruffled reply, before he could complete his sentence. “Actually I had no intention of doing so myself—but Miss Delaney in the rôle of the temptress, I found deucedly hard to resist.”
Carruthers was about to demur when Sheila laid her hand upon his wrist. “I have to thank you, Major, for a most delightful experience. Mr. X”—the green eyes glinted mischievously—“dances beautifully—I should like to carry him round with me as my dancing partner.”
The person complimented bowed his thanks as the Chief Constable turned towards him. “I think I had better be going, Major,” he said gravely. Carruthers looked at his watch—then deliberately at the speaker. “So do I,” he agreed; “we must also make our departure very shortly, Sheila.”
The sweeping eye-lashes covered eyes that flickered and themselves quivered dangerously as she gave the two men her hand. Carruthers gave it an affectionate clasp, but his companion bent over it with a studied gallantry. “Good-bye,” she said with some deliberation in her voice-tone, “Good-bye—Mr. X.” He looked at her with frank admiration in his gaze—then spoke very quietly—yet with infinite meaning, “Au ’voir—Miss Sheila.” He turned on his heels smartly—then followed the Chief Constable down the room—and out.