"I am very sorry, sir," he said hesitatingly, "but our orders are very strict. Monsieur Ciro does not like anything in the way of gossip about our clients, and the gentleman is a very honoured patron. The young lady is his daughter."
"Quite right," the young man agreed bluntly. "This isn't an ordinary case, Charles. You go over to the desk there, write me down the name and bring it, and there's a hundred franc note waiting here for you. No need for the name to pass your lips."
The man bowed and retreated. In a few minutes he came back again and laid a small card upon the table.
"Monsieur will pardon my reminding him," he begged earnestly, "but if he will be so good as to never mention this little matter—"
Richard nodded and waved him away.
"Sure!" he promised.
He drew the card towards him and looked at it in a puzzled manner. Then he passed it to his sister. Her expression, too, was blank.
"Who in the name of mischief," he exclaimed softly, "is Mr. Grex!"