We stayed until long past closing time. Mr. Parker continued in the highest good humor, but Eve was subject at times to moods of either indifference or depression. The more intimate note which had once or twice crept into our conversation she seemed now inclined to deprecate. She avoided meeting my eyes. More than once she glanced toward the clock.
"Haven't you an appointment to-night, father?" she asked, almost in an undertone.
"Sure!" Mr. Parker answered readily. "I have an appointment, and I am going to take you and Mr. Walmsley along."
"I am delighted to hear it!" I exclaimed quickly.
"I'll teach you to make fun of the newspapers," Mr. Parker went on. "No gambling hells in London, eh? Well, we shall see!"
To my great relief Eve made no spoken objection to my inclusion in the party. When at last we left a large and handsome motor car was drawn up outside waiting for us.
"A taxicab," Mr. Parker explained, "is of no use to me—of no more use
than a hansom cab. I have to keep a car in order to slip about quietly.
Now in what part of London shall we look for a gambling hell, Mr.
Walmsley? I know of eleven. Name your own street—somewhere in the West
End."
I named one at random.
"The very place!" Mr. Parker declared; "the very place where I have already an appointment. Get in. Say, you Londoners have no idea what goes on in your own city!"
We drove to a quiet street not very far from the Ritz Hotel. Mr. Parker led us across the pavement and we entered a block of flats. The entrance hall was dimly lit and there seemed to be no one about. Mr. Parker, however, rang for a lift, which came promptly down.