"It is such a tiny piece of paper," she said. "He—they may not see it."
"I believe I've got an envelope somewhere, miss. It's got the company's name and address printed on it, and it won't be extra clean, but——"
"Oh, thank you! If you could find it——"
It was found, and proved to be even more dirty than the man's words had indicated. Zoe enclosed the note, wetted a finger of her glove, and stuck down the lapel.
"Will you please put it under the door?"
"Yes, miss. Shan't be a minute."
He was absent but a few moments.
"Back to Charing Cross Station," directed Zoe, and got into the cab again.
She had done her best. But, throughout the whole of the journey to the Strand, her mind was occupied with dire possibilities. It almost alarmed her, this too keen interest which she found herself taking in the fortunes of Séverac Bablon.
At Charing Cross the taxi-man received a sovereign. It was more than double his fare. He knew, then, that his professional instincts had not misled him, but that he had been driving an American millionairess.