The conclave that ensued lasted until luncheon, at which it was noticed, though not remarked upon, by Mrs. Sadgrove that Azimoolah Khan did not as usual station himself behind his master's chair. The General, too, made no reference to his retainer's absence, but plunged at once into a totally unfounded explanation of the wholesale invitation to Prior's Tarrant. The Duke of Beaumanoir, he averred, wished to be kind to his young kinswoman, Sybil Hanbury, by asking her down while Alec Forsyth was there, and as that was impossible without a chaperon, he, the General, had suggested a small house-party with Mrs. Sadgrove and Mrs. Sherman to play propriety.
Mrs. Sherman evinced unfeigned delight at the prospect, her only anxiety being as to the length of the visit. Her husband, the Senator, with his precious charge of Treasury Bonds, was due in a week, and she would wish to be in London to receive him on arrival. Leonie, too, who did not seem to share her mother's enthusiasm for accepting the ducal hospitality, pressed the point with some pertinacity. The General, however, was equal to the occasion.
"No dates were mentioned," he said, looking his guests guilelessly in the face. "But as his Grace alluded to the pleasure with which he anticipated making the Senator's acquaintance, I presume he takes it for granted that your husband will go straight to Prior's Tarrant from Liverpool."
Mrs. Sherman and Leonie exchanged glances, as though to say that that settled the matter, as indeed, from their point of view, it did. Senator Leonidas Sherman was the kindest of husbands and the most indulgent of fathers; but if he had landed in England and found that he had been deprived of the chance of staying with a duke, he would have made things hum for all concerned.
"Beaumanoir, having lived in your country, has a warm corner in his heart for all Americans," said the General. "And talking of Americans, my dear," he proceeded, addressing his wife, "I shouldn't like to be uncivil to Mrs. Talmage Eglinton. As we are all going out of town, what do you say to returning her call this afternoon? If you are not otherwise engaged, I will order the carriage for four o'clock."
When the General—who never in his life had paid a duty call without grumbling—spoke like that Mrs. Sadgrove knew what was expected of her, and did it. She had not the faintest inkling of his reasons for sudden politeness to a pushing woman whom they all disliked. In the old days, when she had gone out into camp with her husband, and had sat silent in the tent amid the coming and going of troopers and mysterious spies, she had always divined when a great coup, resulting in the death or capture of some notorious malefactor, was vexing his brain. She had watched the spreading of the net without troubling him with questions about the meshes. So now, though inwardly disquieted by this recrudescence of the professional instinct, she abstained from worrying him, confident that the veteran would achieve his purpose as ruthlessly as the zealous young captain of thirty years ago.
Without demur the ordering of the carriage was agreed to, and when it came round at the appointed hour the Sadgroves were reinforced by Mrs. Sherman and Leonie, who, at a hint from the General, had been induced to accompany them. During the drive the General fidgeted a good deal about the pace at which his fine pair of bays was being driven, and once or twice checked the coachman; but his wife, who had learned to notice trifles, observed also that he frequently consulted his watch, and concluded that his anxiety was not entirely on the score of his cattle. Of this she was assured when, as the equipage turned into the courtyard of the hotel, he replaced his watch with a scarcely audible sigh of relief. What was it for which they were neither too late nor too early, she wondered.
At the bureau they were informed that Mrs. Talmage Eglinton was at home, and the party, having been handed over to a bell-boy, passed on—with the exception of the General, who lagged behind for a moment.
"You have a gentleman staying in the hotel of the name of Ziegler, have you not—Clinton Ziegler?" he inquired of the clerk. "Ah, thank you—I was not mistaken then. Do you happen to know if he is in his rooms at present?"
The answer was that Mr. Ziegler was certain to be in, as he was an invalid and never went out. Oh yes; he saw people—a good many, but always in his own apartments, and he never frequented the public rooms. His suite was in the same corridor as that of Mrs. Talmage Eglinton—next to it, in fact. No; the gentleman and lady were not friends, or even acquainted, the clerk believed. At any rate, they had arrived at different times, and he had never heard of any connection between them.