Duperré frowned darkly, and exchanged angry glances with Rayne.
“I think that remark is entirely uncalled for,” Rayne said resentfully. “You have thrown in your lot with us, as I have told you before, and with your eyes wide open have become one of my trusted assistants. As such you will receive my instructions—and act upon them without question. That is your position. And now,” he added, turning to Duperré, “please explain.”
Duperré laid down his cigarette-end in the tray, and said:
“Well, look here, George. What you must do is this. You will write to old Lloyd at the Reform Club to-morrow and tell him that you are leaving for Madrid on Tuesday week upon important business for our friend Rayne. You will suggest that he goes to the Ritz while you go to the Hôtel de la Paix in the Puerta del Sol, as being less expensive. You, as Rayne’s secretary, cannot afford to stay at the Ritz, you understand?”
“Then there is a specific reason why we should not stay at the same hotel, eh?” I asked.
Duperré hesitated, and then nodded.
“I may come out to Spain and join you in a few days after your arrival. At present I don’t exactly know.”
So, though full of resentment, I was compelled to the inevitable. Next day I wrote to the Reform Club, and in reply received a letter appointing to meet me at Charing Cross Station on the following Tuesday week.
Lola became even more inquisitive next day. Whether her father had inadvertently dropped a word in her presence I know not, but she had somehow become aware that I had received orders to travel with Mr. Lloyd to Spain.
What was intended? The “business” upon which I was being sent to Spain was some coup which Rayne’s ever-active brain had carefully conceived. He had used his daughter’s bright and winning manners in order to become friendly with the wealthy and somewhat mysterious old man whom I was to conduct to Spain.