She nodded.
“Not often enough,” she declared. “I just love getting about. Last week we had a perfectly horrible trip, though. We started off for Belfast quite unexpectedly, and I hated every minute of it.”
Peter smiled inwardly, but he said never a word. His companion was already chattering on about something else. Peter crossed the hall a few minutes later, to speak to an acquaintance, slipped out to the telephone booth and spoke to his servant.
“A bag and a change,” he ordered, “at Euston Station at twelve o’clock, in time for the Irish mail. Your mistress will be home as usual.”
An hour later the dinner party broke up. Early the next morning, Peter crossed the Irish Channel. He returned the following day and crossed again within a few hours. In five days the affair was finished, except for the denouement.
Peter ascended in the lift to Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge’s office the following Thursday, calm and unruffled as usual, but nevertheless a little exultant. It was barely half an hour since he had become finally prepared for this interview. He was looking forward to it now with feelings of undiluted satisfaction. Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge was in, he was told, and he was at once admitted to his presence. The financier greeted him with a somewhat curious smile.
“Say, this is very nice of you to look me up again!” he exclaimed. “Still worrying about that loan, eh?”
Peter shook his head.
“No, I’m not worrying about that any more,” he answered, accepting one of his host’s cigars. “The fact of it is that if it were not for me, you would be the one who would have to do the worrying.”
Mr. Heseltine-Wrigge stopped short in the act of lighting his cigar.