Then he turned to me.
“Would you like to come over to Beaulieu, Ashton?” he said, as though making some quite ordinary request. “My car will be here presently. I can take you too, Faulkner, if you wish to see Miss Deroxe. I am going straight to the Bristol.”
I was about to refuse, when Faulkner spoke.
“I should like to go, and Mr Ashton will of course come.”
“Good. My car should be here in a quarter of an hour.”
He strolled over to the bureau, and I heard him inquire for letters. There were several. He took them from the gold-laced porter, sank on to a settee, and began to tear them open.
“Why did you accept his offer?” I inquired of Faulkner, in an undertone, as I lit a cigarette.
“Never mind,” he answered quickly. “I know what I’m doing. Leave everything to me now.” At that moment the large glazed double doors leading into the Place in front of the Casino revolved slowly and a tall, imposing-looking woman of thirty-five or so, in rich black furs, which had all the appearance of being valuable, sailed in, followed by her maid carrying a small bag. Paulton, glancing up from his letters, noticed her, and at once sprang to his feet.
“Ah, Baronne, how pleasant to meet you again!” he exclaimed, as he approached her. “I expected you here sooner.”
“I should have been here an hour ago,” she exclaimed, “but the train was delayed. This storm is awful!”