"Mr. Oscar H. Fischer," the girl read out, "with respectful compliments."
Pamela smiled.
"He doesn't know, then," she murmured to herself. "Get my bath ready,
Leah."
The maid disappeared into the inner room. Pamela tore open the note attached to the roses by her side, and read it slowly through:
Dear Miss Van Teyl,
I am so very sorry, but the luncheon we had half-planned for to-day must be postponed. I have an urgent message to go south; to inspect—but no secrets! It's horribly disappointing. I hope we may meet in a few days.
Sincerely yours,
JOHN LUTCHESTER.
Pamela laid down the note, conscious of an indefined but distinct sensation of disappointment. After all, it was not so wonderful to wake up and find oneself in New York. The sun was pleasant, the little puffs of air which came in through the window across the park, delightful and exhilarating, yet something had gone out of the day. Accustomed to self-analysis, she asked herself swiftly—what? It was, without a doubt, something to do with Lutchester's departure. She tried to face the question of her disappointment. Was it possible to feel any real interest in a man who preferred a Government post to the army at such a time, and who had brought his golf clubs out to America? Her imagination for a moment revolved around the problem of his apparently uninteresting and yet, in some respects, contradictory personality. Was it really her fancy or had she, every now and then, detected behind that flamboyant manner traces of something deeper and more serious, something which seemed to indicate a life and aims of which nothing appeared upon the surface? She clasped her knees and sat up in bed, listening to the sound of the running water in the next room. Was there any possible explanation of his opportune appearance on the night before with a dummy pocketbook and a concocted story? The cleverest man on earth could surely never have gauged her position with Fischer and intervened in such a manner at the psychological moment.
Yet he had done it, she reflected, gazing thoughtfully at Fischer's gift. If, indeed, he knew what was passing around him to that extent, how much more knowledge might he not possess? She felt the little silken belt around her waist. At least there was no one who could take Sandy Graham's secret from her until she chose to give it up. Supposing for a moment that Lutchester was also out for the great things, was he fooled by her attitude? If he knew so much, he must know that the secret remained with her. Perhaps, after all, he was only a philanderer in intrigue….