“Yes. And I don’t think the only explanation she could have offered would have helped her much—that it was done for the sake of Tony Brabazon! It was a big thing for any woman to do for a man—unless she cared for him! And”—he uttered a light laugh—“I fancy Coventry’s jealousy of Brabazon would have wakened up again quite quickly in the circumstances. Oh!”—with an impatient gesture—“it was a lovely scheme—absolutely watertight, if only you hadn’t meddled!”
He looked across at her with an expression that held a droll mixture of anger and mortification, not unlike the expression, of a child who, having banged a new toy too ecstatically upon the floor, sees it suddenly drop to pieces.
“Not altogether watertight,” observed Cara calmly. “There was a chance—quite a good chance, too—that Eliot might not have heard a single word about the matter—might never have known that Ann had been here.”
“Bah!”—arrogantly. “I don’t leave things like that—to chance. I wasn’t taking any chances. I arranged that Coventry should know all right.”
Cara started.
“What do you mean?” she demanded.
“What do I mean?” He smiled derisively. “Why, that old chap who lives at the lodge at Heronsmere, old chap with a face like a gargoyle—Brady, what’s his name?”
“Bradley,” supplied Cara.
“Yes, that’s it. Bradley. A cunning old rascal, if ever there was one—he’d sell his immortal soul for the price of a drink. I told him”—watching her keenly while he spoke—“that his master would probably like to know that a certain young lady in whom he was interested would be found on board the Sphinx this evening if he wanted to see her.”
“You told him that?” gasped Cara, stricken with dismay.