“Didn’t he say when he would be back?” Reggie asked as he stood up to go.
“Not a word, I tell you.”
“Well, that’s strange.”
“Strange, is it? It’s plain you don’t know the master, young man. He’d go to the end of kingdom come for his pretties.”
“I hope he hasn’t gone as far as that,” said Reggie. He saw as he turned the corner of the street that she was still looking after him. “She knows more than she says,” he told himself, “or she’s more rattled than she’ll let on.” He went to Scotland Yard.
Lomas was pleased to see him. “And how do you like marbles, Fortune?” he said genially. “An intellectual game, I’m told. The glass ones are the trumps now, Bell says. I’m afraid you’re old-fashioned. Stone isn’t used by the best people.”
“Breakin’ upon this merry persiflage,” said Reggie, “have you heard from New York?”
“New York is silent. Probably stunned by your searching question. But the American Embassy speaks. Where’s that report, Bell?”
Superintendent Bell, with an apologetic smile, for he always liked Mr. Fortune, read out: “James L. Beeton is a well-known and opulent citizen now travelling in Europe for his health. Present address not known.”
“For his health, mark you,” Lomas added.