"Why didn't you bring somebody else with you, to follow the man and the luggage?" demanded Gilling, half-petulantly.
Swallow shook his head.
"There I made a mess of it, I confess," he admitted. "But it never struck me they'd separate. I thought, of course, they'd drive straight to some hotel, and—"
"And the long and the short of it is, Greyle's slipped you," said Gilling. "Well—there's no more to be done tonight. The only thing of value is that Greyle called at the Fragonard. What's a country squire—only recently come to England, too!—to do with the Fragonard? That is worth something. Well—Copplestone, we'd better meet in the morning at Petherton's. You be there at ten o'clock, and I'll get Sir Cresswell Oliver to be there, too."
Copplestone betook himself to his rooms in Jermyn Street; it seemed an age—several ages—since he had last seen the familiar things in them. During the few days which had elapsed since his hurried setting-off to meet Bassett Oliver so many things had happened that he felt as if he had lived a week in a totally different world. He had met death, and mystery, and what appeared to be sure evidence of deceit and cunning and perhaps worse—fraud and crime blacker than fraud. But he had also met Audrey Greyle. And it was only natural that he thought more about her than of the strange atmosphere of mystery which wrapped itself around Scarhaven. She, at any rate, was good to think upon, and he thought much as he looked over the letters that had accumulated, changed his clothes, and made ready to go and dine at his club, Already he was counting the hours which must elapse before he would go back to her.
Nevertheless, Copplestone's mind was not entirely absorbed by this pleasant subject; the events of the day and of the arrival in London kept presenting themselves. And coming across a fellow club-member whom he knew for a thorough man about town, he suddenly plumped him with a question.
"I say!" he said. "Do you know the Fragonard Club?"
"Of course!" replied the other man. "Don't you?"
"Never even heard of it till this evening," said Copplestone.
"What is it?"
"Mixed lot!" answered his companion. "Theatrical and music-hall folk—men and women—both. Lively spot—sometimes. Like to have a look in when they have one of their nights?"