Then, turning somewhat abruptly, he bumped into a gentleman, who must have been standing extremely close behind him. Instinctively he thrust his letter into his pocket, realising that the missive was not merely a private but a secret one. He half-feared that the person into whom he had cannoned,—and whose approach he ought to have heard on the marble-paved hall,—might have been covertly reading his letter over his shoulder; nor was he particularly reassured at finding that the individual in question was none other than General Meyer.
"I beg your pardon," began the Commander-in-Chief, "but I was not quite sure that it was you, as I could not see your face while you were reading your letter."
"My fault entirely," said Trafford genially. "Were you looking for me?"
"I was. I came to say that the command which his Majesty graciously issued to you to dine with him to-night is also extended to your sister."
"My sister!" repeated Trafford, in dazed accents.
Meyer smiled at the other's mystification. "I was informed at the bureau that your sister was staying at the hotel with you," he said blandly.
Instantly the fraud of the previous evening returned to Trafford's memory.
"She spent last night at the hotel," he said, "but she left early this morning."
"A brief visit!" was the General's comment.
"Extremely! She is on her way to Vienna. She—she took the opportunity of paying me a flying visit to see me compete for the King's Cup on the Rundsee. She went on by the 8:35 this morning."