He was--as I have said--as cool as a cucumber, to all outward appearances. Nevertheless, as he turned sideways to answer a question put by Lady Denham, I saw the perspiration bead his forehead. I knew that he was controlling himself with a great effort, although he never turned a hair. He was evidently taken aback by my complete calmness, yet it relieved his mind when he saw that I did not intend to make a scene. Yet, had I denounced him he undoubtedly would have been prepared with a crafty explanation, for he was too clever a schemer to leave anything to chance. And as I guessed, my chance observation that I knew Cannington had placed him to a certain degree on his guard.
With wonderful self-control he spoke to Lady Denham, and laughed with Mabel, and deftly led the conversation on to theatrical topics. When it became general he strolled over to me in a light and airy manner, until he was at my elbow. "And when are we to see a play at the West End by Mr. Cyrus Vance?" he asked gaily, dropping his voice immediately at the end of the question to whisper: "Explanations when we leave."
"Oh," said I loudly, and replying to his public inquiry, "I hope next year will see me successful as the author of a comedy." Then I in turn dropped my voice: "Count on my silence."
Monk drew a long breath of relief, but went on with his comedy. "I hope you will put me down for a box," he said effusively; "I am a great admirer of the drama."
"You shall be on the free list, Mr. Marr," I said, with ostentatious gush.
The whispered words had not been heard by anyone in the room, so Mr. Marr and I understood one another thoroughly without anyone being the wiser. I half fancied Cannington's observant eyes might have seen our byplay and his sharp ears might have overheard: but for once he seemed to have missed his opportunity. Shortly Mr. Monk, more at ease, was conversing gaily on the news of the day. Lady Denham seemed to favour him, but Mabel had a contemptuous look on her face several times when he addressed her. I felt certain that only his supposed wealth attracted her, and that she had no respect for his tame-cat antics. And the cream of the joke was, that Mr. Walter Monk, passing himself off as Mr. Wentworth Marr, had only five hundred a year. I could not help giving vent to an audible laugh as the humour of the situation struck me.
"Why do you laugh, Cyrus?" asked Mabel, turning suddenly.
"I have thought of a good joke for a comic scene in a drama" said I grimly.
"May we hear it?" asked Mr. Monk audaciously, for he must have guessed the reason of my unseasonable merriment.
"Certainly not, sir. When you pay your money in the stalls you shall hear the joke delivered on the stage."