“Must see you for ten minutes. At once. Joe.”
The companion might have argued about that handwriting, but how was she to know that “Joe” did not have to disguise it. Clement had banked on that idea. And he had scored.
Miss Méduse Smythe was no sooner out of vision than he was in the dining room, alongside Heloise’s table, speaking to Heloise. “Miss Reys,” he said, “will you give me an opportunity to talk to you privately?...”
“Mr. Seadon!”
Heloise’s tone was affronted. Obviously she resented his speaking to her, but obviously, too, the extreme publicity of the place robbed her attitude of some of its effectiveness. It is to be feared that Clement had taken that into his calculations when he had decided on this plan.
“Miss Reys,” he said, “I want to speak to you—privately—for no more than ten minutes. And I want you to understand that it is only the urgency of the matter that makes me force myself upon you.” She hesitated, looking up at him, her vivid face showing the keenness of her emotions. “Do you remember saying that you believed I’d be honest even against my own interests?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I did say that, but——”
“I am honest now. Will you believe that?”
The girl looked at him quietly for a moment.
“I believe that,” she said.