Therefore, believing that the electric light had been inadvertently left on, I opened the door, when I had a great surprise.
Rayne was seated in an arm-chair chatting with Madame Martoz, while on a settee near the window sat Madame Duperré.
All three started up as I entered, but a word of apology instantly rose to my lips, and Rayne said: “That’s all right, Hargreave. Indeed, I wanted to talk to you. Look here,” he went on, “I want you to go to Madrid after old Mr. Lloyd goes there, as no doubt he will. You’ll stay at the Ritz in the Plaza de Canovas, and ask no questions. I’ll send you instructions—or perhaps Duperré may be with you.”
“When?” I asked in surprise, as it appeared that the rich old gentleman had, after all, arranged to go to Spain.
“In ten days or so. When I tell you. Till then, don’t worry, my dear boy. When I make plans you know that you have only to act.”
“To the detriment of our unsuspecting guest, eh?” I remarked in a low bitter voice.
“That is not polite, George,” he said sharply. “You are our paid servant, and such a remark does not befit you.”
“Whether it does or not, Mr. Rayne, I repeat it,” I said defiantly. “I am not blind to your subtle machinations by which I have become your accomplice.”
He laughed triumphantly in my face.
“You are paid—and well paid for it all. Why should you resent? Are you an idiot?”