“I hope you don’t mind,” apologized Straithwaite, as he led his guest to his own smoking-room. “Stephanie,” he confided, becoming more cordial as two doors separated them from the lady, “is a creature of nerves and indiscretions. She forgets. To-night she will not sleep. To-morrow she will suffer.” Carrados divined the grin. “So shall I!”
“On the contrary, pray accept my regrets,” said the visitor. “Besides,” he continued, “there is nothing more for me to do here, I suppose....”
“It is a mystery,” admitted Straithwaite, with polite agreement. “Will you try a cigarette?”
“Thanks. Can you see if my car is below?” They exchanged cigarettes and stood at the window lighting them.
“There is one point, by the way, that may have some significance.” Carrados had begun to recross the room and stopped to pick up the two fictitious messages. “You will have noticed that this is the outside sheet of a programme. It is not the most suitable for the purpose; the first inner sheet is more convenient to write on, but there the date appears. You see the inference? The programme was obtained before——”
“Perhaps. Well——?” for Carrados had broken off abruptly and was listening.
“You hear someone coming up the steps?”
“It is the general stairway.”
“Mr Straithwaite, I don’t know how far this has gone in other quarters. We may only have a few seconds before we are interrupted.”
“What do you mean?”