“May I——?” said Carrados, stretching out his hand. He took the paper and touched the writing with his finger-tips. “Oh yes, 7 Heronsbourne Place. That is on the edge of Heronsbourne Park, is it not?” He transferred the paper casually to his desk as he spoke and stood up. “How did you come, Madame Ferraja?”
Madame Ferraja followed the careless action with a discreet smile that did not touch her voice.
“By motor bus—first one then another, inquiring at every turning. Oh, but it was interminable,” sighed the lady.
“My driver is off for the evening—I did not expect to be going out—but I will ’phone up a taxi and it will be at the gate as soon as we are.” He despatched the message and then, turning to the house telephone, switched on to Greatorex.
“I’m just going round to Heronsbourne Park,” he explained. “Don’t stay, Greatorex, but if anyone calls expecting to see me, they can say that I don’t anticipate being away more than an hour.”
Parkinson was hovering about the hall. With quite novel officiousness he pressed upon his master a succession of articles that were not required. Over this usually complacent attendant the unattractive features of Madame Ferraja appeared to exercise a stealthy fascination, for a dozen times the lady detected his eyes questioning her face and a dozen times he looked guiltily away again. But his incongruities could not delay for more than a few minutes the opening of the door.
“I do not accompany you, sir?” he inquired, with the suggestion plainly tendered in his voice that it would be much better if he did.
“Not this time, Parkinson.”
“Very well, sir. Is there any particular address to which we can telephone in case you are required, sir?”
“Mr Greatorex has instructions.”