“It is an old family name,” she murmured.
His face suddenly cleared. She knew that he had remembered. But he took his leave with no further reference to it.
“Sabin!” he repeated to himself when alone in his carriage. “That was the name of the man who was supposed to be selling plans to the German Government. Poor Renshaw was in a terrible stew about it. Sabin! An uncommon name.”
He had ordered the coachman to drive to the House of Commons. Suddenly he pulled the check-string.
“Call at Dorset House,” he directed.
Mr. Sabin lingered till nearly the last of the guests had gone. Then he led Helene once more into the winter gardens.
“May I detain you for one moment’s gossip?” he asked. “I see your carriage at the door.”
She laughed.
“It is nothing,” she declared. “I must drive in the Park for an hour. One sees one’s friends, and it is cool and refreshing after these heated rooms. But at any time. Talk to me as long as you will, and then I will drop you at the Carlton.”