Mr. Brott hesitated. He seemed a little uncertain how to continue.
“To tell you the truth,” he said, “I believe that she has reasons for desiring her present whereabouts to remain unknown. I should perhaps not have mentioned her name at all. It was, I fancy, indiscreet of me. The coincidence of hearing you mention the name of the place where I believe she resided surprised my question. With your permission we will abandon the subject.”
“You disappoint me,” Mr. Sabin said quietly. “It would have given me much pleasure to have resumed my acquaintance with the lady in question.”
“You will, without doubt, have an opportunity,” Mr. Brott said, glancing at his watch and suddenly rising. “Dear me, how the time goes.”
He rose to his feet. Mr. Sabin also rose.
“Must I understand,” he said in a low tone, “that you are not at liberty to give me Mrs. Peterson’s address?”
“I am not at liberty even,” Mr. Brott answered, with a frown, “to mention her name. It will give me great pleasure, Duke, to better my acquaintance with you. Will you dine with me at the House of Commons one night next week?”
“I shall be charmed,” Mr. Sabin answered. “My address for the next few days is at the Carlton. I am staying there under my family name of Sabin—Mr. Sabin. It is a fancy of mine—it has been ever since I became an alien—to use my title as little as possible.”
Mr. Brott looked for a moment puzzled.
“Your pseudonym,” he remarked thoughtfully, “seems very familiar to me.”