“The little dark lady with whom he is talking now,” Peter Ruff continued. “He seems, too, to be going early. He has no dances reserved after the twelfth. We will go downstairs at once, if you please. I must speak to your brother.”
“Have you been able to think of anything?” she asked, anxiously. “Is there any chance at all, do you think?”
“I believe so,” Peter Ruff answered. “It is most interesting. Don’t be too sanguine, though. The odds are against us, and the time is very short. Is the driver of your electric brougham to be trusted?”
“Absolutely,” she assured him. “He is an old servant.”
“Will you lend him to me?” Peter Ruff asked, “and tell him that he is to obey my instructions absolutely?”
“Of course,” she answered. “You are going away, then?”
Peter Ruff nodded. He was a little sparing of words just then. The thoughts were chasing one another through his brain. He was listening, too, for the sweep of a dress behind.
“Is there nothing I can do?” Lady Mary begged, eagerly.
Peter Ruff shook his head. In the distance he saw the Honourable Maurice come quickly toward them. With a firm but imperceptible gesture he waved him away.
“Don’t let your brother speak to me,” he said. “We can’t tell who is behind. What time did you say the Prime Minister was expected?”