Densham was looking straight ahead along the stream of vehicles. His eyes were set, but he saw nothing. He did not doubt her word for a moment. He knew that she had spoken the truth. The atmosphere seemed suddenly grey and sunless. He shivered a little—he was positively chilled. Just for a moment he saw the girl’s face, heard the swirl of her skirts as she had passed their table and the sound of her voice as she had bent over the great cluster of white roses whose faint perfume reached even to where they were sitting. Then he half closed his eyes. He had come very near making a terrible mistake.
“Thank you,” he said. “I will tell Harcutt.”
CHAPTER VIII
A MEETING IN BOND STREET
Wolfenden returned to his rooms to lunch, intending to go round to see his last night’s visitor immediately afterwards. He had scarcely taken off his coat, however, before Selby met him in the hall, a note in his hand.
“From the young lady, my lord,” he announced. “My wife has just sent it round.”
Wolfenden tore the envelope open and read it.
“Thursday morning.