"Happen to know any one of the name of Grex?" Lane asked, with elaborate carelessness.
Hunterleys made no immediate reply. He seemed to be considering the name.
"Grex," he repeated, knocking the ash from his cigarette. "Rather an uncommon name, isn't it? Why do you ask?"
"Oh, I've seen an elderly man and a young lady about once or twice," Lane explained. "Very interesting-looking people. Some one told me that their name was Grex."
"There is a person living under that name, I think," Hunterleys said, "who has taken the Villa Mimosa for the season."
"Do you know him personally?" the young man asked eagerly.
"Personally? No, I can scarcely say that I do."
Richard Lane sighed. It was disappointment number one. For some reason or other, too, Hunterleys seemed disposed to change the conversation.
"The young lady who is always with him," Richard persisted, "would that be his daughter?"
Hunterleys turned a little in his seat and surveyed his questioner. He had met Lane once or twice and rather liked him.