“Will you come and see, my venturesome guest?”
“With great pleasure,” was the prompt reply.
Sir Timothy glanced at his watch.
“That,” he said, “is one of the matters of which we will speak at a quarter to twelve. Meanwhile, let me show you something. It may amuse you as it has done me.”
The three moved back towards one of the arched openings which led into the ballroom.
“Observe, if you please,” their host continued, “the third couple who pass us. The girl is wearing green—the very little that she does wear. Watch the man, and see if he reminds you of any one.”
Francis did as he was bidden. The girl was a well-known member of the chorus of one of the principal musical comedies, and she seemed to be thoroughly enjoying both the dance and her partner. The latter appeared to be of a somewhat ordinary type, sallow, with rather puffy cheeks, and eyes almost unnaturally dark. He danced vigorously and he talked all the time. Something about him was vaguely familiar to Francis, but he failed to place him.
“Notwithstanding all my precautions,” Sir Timothy continued, “there, fondly believing himself to be unnoticed, is an emissary of Scotland Yard. Really, of all the obvious, the dry-as-dust, hunt-your-criminal-by-rule-of-three kind of people I ever met, the class of detective to which this man belongs can produce the most blatant examples.”
“What are you going to do about him?” Francis asked.
Sir Timothy shrugged his shoulders.