“Well, she has been acting in that capacity,” admitted Colonel Ormsby. “I wish she would go on with the career. She began it at my suggestion, on my fervent advice. She has been a great success, an unparalleled success. If you were wise, you, as I understand, have great influence with her, would advise her to keep on with it.”
Gerard said nothing. He did not see the look of keen anxiety on the face of Rachel, who had gathered some part of their conversation, and who knew what the subject was that they were discussing.
They went on in silence until Piccadilly was reached. Then the colonel turned to his niece.
“My dear, where are you going to stay to-night? Will you put up at my hotel?”
She shook her head.
“I’ve kept on the lodgings in Duke Street,” said she. “I think I’ll go there. And you can come and see me in the morning, and take me to Lady Jennings’. I can’t feel happy till I’ve told the dear old thing everything.”
“Very well, my dear. Then I’ll tell Marks to drive to Duke Street.”
They drove on, and Miss Davison was helped out by the gentlemen, and Gerard thanked the colonel for having brought him so far on his way, and let the car drive away without him.
For Miss Davison had given him a look which he took for permission to speak to her. And as the car drove down the street, they walked up it, side by side, in the quiet night.
“Now,” said she, with a weary air of being glad to get rid of a burden, “you know everything. You can see why it was impossible for me to tell you anything. I was under promise—oath—not to let any creature on earth know what I was and what my work was. I was fully sheltered by the fact that it was my uncle who had started me on this most distasteful but most remunerative career, and though I have often asked him to release me, he has always refused until I could assist in carrying out some sensational feat, to justify, as he said, his choice of me for this career.”