“Is this Mr. Schulz an Englishman?”
“I’ll let you into a secret,” answered Bulkinghorn; “he was. But he isn’t now! No, no, I can’t say anything more. You must work it out for yourself. But I will give you a piece of advice. The less you say about Mr. William Schulz and about your private affairs generally when you are on the other side, the better it will be for you! Good-night—and good luck!”
Euan MacTavish escorted Mary to Almond’s Hotel.
“I’m very much afraid,” he said to her as they walked along, “that you’re butting that pretty head of yours into a wasps’ nest, Mary!”
“Nonsense!” retorted the girl decisively; “I can take care of myself!”
“If I consent to let you go off like this,” said Euan, “it is only on one condition ... you must tell Lady Margaret where you are going ...”
“That’ll spoil everything,” answered Mary, pouting; “Mother will want to come with me!”
“No, she won’t,” urged her cousin, “not if I tell her. She’ll worry herself to death, Mary, if she doesn’t know what has become of you. You’d better let me ring her up from the club and tell her you’re running over to Rotterdam for a few days. Look here, I’ll tell her you’re going with me. She’ll be perfectly happy if she thinks I’m to be with you ...”
On that Mary surrendered.
“Have it your own way,” she said.