“Somebody’s trying to get me out of Beman’s,” he said, and his face darkened. “I wish I knew who it was.”
“Trying to get you out of the bank?” repeated Katharine, in surprise. “Oh, Jack, you must be mistaken.”
Jack laughed a little without smiling.
“There’s no mistake,” he said. “Mr. Beman as good as told me so this morning. We came near having a row.”
“Tell me all about it,” said Katharine, anxiously, and leaning forward in sympathy. “It’s outrageous—whoever has done it.”
“Yes, I’ll tell you,” said John. “It was this way. In the first place, I went to the Vanbrughs’ last night, after all.”
“But you said you weren’t asked! I’d have gone, too—why didn’t you send me word? At least—I’d have tried to go,” she added, recollecting that she had spent the evening in her room.
“I found a note when I came up town. It was very informal, you know.”
“Yes—they only asked me the day before,” said Katharine. “It must have been very amusing. They were going to do all sorts of things.”
“If you’d been there, I should have enjoyed it,” answered John. “Yes, they did all sorts of things—improvised charades and tableaux—Crowdie was there, and Griggs, and the set. The best thing was a tableau of Francesca da Rimini. Hester was Francesca—you know her eyes. There they are!” he exclaimed, looking at the portrait. “And they made me do Paolo, and Griggs murdered me—”