Sir Cyril, before he promised silence to his wife, had talked too openly to Amos Benhusan; said more than he had perhaps intended to.
Mr Benhusan had not promised silence; he talked a little, discreetly, but he talked.
Esmé bought her Paris frocks; paid something to Claire. Denise had sent her something valuable; but when the Blakeneys came to London, and she called, the "Not at home" was unmistakable.
"When would her ladyship be in?"
"Could not say, madam."
The door respectfully pushed to. Sir Cyril, meeting her, passed her with a cold bow.
Esmé rang up furiously. What was it? She must know.
"Not here. I can't talk here." Denise's voice was hurried and strained. "Meet me at the club to-morrow—at eleven."
Esmé kept her appointment punctually.
"Down here, Esmé—down in this lounge." Denise hurried to a dim corner, poured out a badly-jointed tale.