The other man smiled again, and it struck Hugh that rarely, if ever, had he seen such a cold, merciless face.
“Of course, you’ve been in France,” Lakington murmured. “Unfortunately a bad heart kept me on this side of the water. One regrets it in many ways—regrets it immensely. Sometimes I cannot help thinking how wonderful it must have been to be able to kill without fear of consequences. There is art in killing, Captain Drummond—profound art. And as you know, Phyllis,” he turned to the girl, “I have always been greatly attracted by anything requiring the artistic touch.” He looked at his watch and sighed. “Alas! I must tear myself away. Are you returning home this evening?”
The girl, who had been glancing round the restaurant, shrugged her shoulders. “Probably,” she answered. “I haven’t quite decided. I might stop with Aunt Kate.”
“Fortunate Aunt Kate.” With a bow Lakington turned away, and through the glass Drummond watched him get his hat and stick from the cloakroom. Then he looked at the girl, and noticed that she had gone a little white.
“What’s the matter, old thing?” he asked quickly. “Are you feeling faint?”
She shook her head, and gradually the colour came back to her face. “I’m quite all right,” she answered. “It gave me rather a shock that man finding us here.”
“On the face of it, it seems a harmless occupation,” said Hugh.
“On the face of it, perhaps,” she said. “But that man doesn’t deal with face values.” With a short laugh she turned to Hugh. “You’ve stumbled right into the middle of it, my friend, rather sooner than I anticipated. That is one of the men you will probably have to kill....”
Her companion lit another cigarette. “There is nothing like straightforward candour,” he grinned. “Except that I disliked his face and his manner, I must admit that I saw nothing about him to necessitate my going to so much trouble. What is his particular worry?”
“First and foremost the brute wants to marry me,” replied the girl.