Sir Lucien! Sir Lucien had come back? Rita experienced a swift return of feverish energy. Half dressed as she was, and without pausing to take a wrap, she ran out to the telephone.
Never had a man’s voice sounded so sweet as that of Sir Lucien when he spoke across the wires. He was at Albemarle Street, and Rita, wasting no time in explanations, begged him to await her there. In another ten minutes she had completed her toilette and had sent Nina to ’phone for a cab. (One of the minor details of his wife’s behavior which latterly had aroused Irvin’s distrust was her frequent employment of public vehicles in preference to either of the cars.)
Quentin Gray she had quite forgotten, until, as she was about to leave:
“Is there any message for Mr. Gray, Madam?” inquired Nina naively.
“Oh!” cried Rita. “Of course! Quick! Give me some paper and a pencil.”
She wrote a hasty note, merely asking Gray to proceed to the restaurant, where she promised to join him, left it in charge of the maid, and hurried off to Albemarle Street.
Mareno, the silent, yellow-faced servant who had driven the car on the night of Rita’s first visit to Limehouse, admitted her. He showed her immediately into the lofty study, where Sir Lucien awaited.
“Oh, Lucy—Lucy!” she cried, almost before the door had closed behind Mareno. “I am desperate—desperate!”
Sir Lucien placed a chair for her. His face looked very drawn and grim. But Rita was in too highly strung a condition to observe this fact, or indeed to observe anything.
“Tell me,” he said gently.