She shook her head.
“I wonder you haven’t tried that before. No, it would not—not with money, that is to say.”
“You’ll tell Mr. Fentolin, I presume?” he asked quickly.
“I have nothing to tell him,” she replied. “Nothing has happened. Richards,” she went on, as a servant entered the room, “Mr. Hamel is looking for Miss Fentolin. Will you see if you can find her?”
The man’s expression was full of polite regret.
“Miss Fentolin went over to Legh Woods early this morning, sir,” he announced. “She is staying to lunch with Lady Saxthorpe.”
Hamel stood quite still for a moment. Then he turned to the window. In the far distance he could catch a glimpse of the Tower. Mr. Fentolin’s chair had disappeared from the walk.
“I am sorry,” he said. “I must have made a mistake. I will hurry back.”
There were more questions which he was longing to ask, but the cold negativeness of her manner chilled him. She sat with her fingers poised over the keys, waiting for his departure. He turned and left the room.