“A curiosity which is about to be gratified,” remarks the other coolly, as a low tap is heard on the door of the room in which these two men are hatching their diabolical plans. “Come in, Léonie.”
The door opens softly, and a woman glides in. She is small and of slight build, with a bright, fair complexion, even, firm mouth, dark grey eyes fringed round with a wealth of lashes, which at once attract the onlooker by their extraordinary thickness. Her hair, which is cut short, is soft, glossy, and wavy, and is parted on one side, clustering upon her forehead and around her face. On this face play the lights and shades of a constantly changing expression, and if ever genius told its tale in eyes, it is indelibly stamped in these.
Mr. Trackem smiles covertly as he glances at Lord Westray, and notices the expression of surprise in this latter’s face. Léonie has walked straight over to Mr. Trackem’s chair, and is standing beside him.
“You want me?” she inquires in a matter-of-fact voice. Apparently the break of dawn summons is not in the least strange to her.
“I do, Léonie,” answers her master quickly. “I have a little job on hand that I think I can entrust to you, and I rely upon you to carry it out successfully. There is, as you no doubt know, a large reward offered for the apprehension of the adventuress Gloria de Lara, or for such information as may lead to that apprehension. Now I see no reason why my clever little Léonie should not be the person to win that reward, or at any rate a part of it. My commission to you is this. First of all get speech with this Gloria. This necessitates finding her out. Next, worm yourself into her confidence by a display of zeal which I can perfectly trust you to simulate. Keep me informed of her plans and movements as soon as you are able to speak with certainty of them, and be ready to act as I bid you on receipt of any communication or instruction which I may desire to send you. Now, Léonie, remember I trust this job to you, because there is none so fitted as you to undertake it. I have every faith in your sagacity and prudence. I have heard a good deal of Gloria de Lara’s wonderful cleverness; I am mistaken if my little Léonie is not her match.”
There is a glitter in the girl’s dark grey eyes, a quiet smile on her lips.
“You may trust me,” she remarks laconically.
“I know I can,” answers Mr. Trackem gravely; “I know that very well. Now, Léonie, your work begins at once. Gloria de Lara, her mother Speranza de Lara, and the Duke of Ravensdale were seen at a little place called ‘The Hut,’ near Bracknell, belonging to the duke. I have reason to think, however, that they have fled that place this very night. You had better go straight there, and take up the scent from the spot. I leave all to you. You can draw upon me, you know. Keep me advised of your whereabouts, stick to the letter of my instructions, and send me good news as quickly as possible. I have no more to say, unless it be that you are to effect that which Scotland Yard cannot.”
“I will,” answers this strange laconic creature, as with a slight inclination she turns and leaves the room.
“Well, I’m blowed, Trackem, if that is not the queerest elf I ever set eyes upon in my life!” exclaims Lord Westray as the door closes. “Where on earth did you raise her from?”