“Thank you,” Grey said; and then he sat for a full minute in silence. He was impelled to make a clean breast of the whole astounding affair to this man and ask his aid. Though he was unacquainted even with his name he felt he could trust him. In this sudden and inexplicable faith his aversion for Herr Schlippenbach and Captain Lindenwald found its antithesis. He nevertheless appreciated the importance of extreme caution, and his judgment warred for the moment with his impulse. Finally a truce was signed.
“Was yesterday’s tone an affectation or is today’s?” asked the Irishman jocularly.
Grey took a sip at the pink contents of his glass.
“Neither,” he answered, seriously; “yesterday I was asleep; today I am awake.”
“Tut, tut, man! Don’t talk in riddles,” the other protested. “You were no more asleep last night at Maxim’s than you are this minute. By the way, did you see your friend Sarema as you came in? She was sitting quite near the door a little while ago.”
“Sarema?”
“To be sure. Come, come, my lad, has your mood changed as well as your tone and voice? You certainly remember the odalisque from the Folies Bergères.”
Grey’s eyes showed that his astonishment was unfeigned.
“Oh, but this is marvellous,” cried Jack, leaning forward, his arms on the table. “You weren’t drunk, man. You—you certainly weren’t asleep.”
“What is your name?” Grey asked, suddenly.