“Ten pounds,” he said briefly. “We pay already in advance. There is one more thing I desire to know,” he said. “It is of the aunt. She is in London?”
Mirabelle shook her head.
“No, she is in the country. I expected to go back this afternoon, and if I was—successful, we were coming to town to-morrow.”
He pursed his thickish lips; she gazed fascinated at his long forehead rippled in thought.
“It will be a nervous matter for her if you stay in London to-night—no?”
She smiled and shook her head.
“No. I will stay at the flat; I have often stayed there alone, but even that will not be necessary. I will wire asking her to come up by the first train.”
“Wait.” He raised a pompous hand and darted back to his room. He returned with a packet of telegraph forms. “Write your telegram,” he commanded. “A clerk shall dispatch it at once.”
Gratefully she took the blanks and wrote her news and request.
“Thank you,” she said.