Chapter Twenty Three.
London Lovers.
Nearly three weeks had now passed since the extraordinary disappearance of Dr Petrovitch and his daughter from the house in Cromwell Road.
The cleverness with which the removal of their household goods had been effected, and the cunning and ingenuity displayed regarding them, showed Max Barclay plainly that the disappearance had been carefully planned, and that those assisting had been well paid for keeping their secret.
And yet, after all, it was quite possible that the men who had removed the furniture from the house were merely hired for the job, and had gone away thinking they had acted quite legitimately. Harmer’s Stores often engage extra hands, and what would have been easier than for the foreman to have paid them, and driven the van with the false name upon it to another part of London. That was, no doubt, what had really been done.
Max had devoted the greater part of his time to endeavouring to elucidate the mystery, but had failed ignominiously. The statement made by Marion concerning what seemed to be some confession of Maud’s greatly puzzled him. His well-beloved was loyal to her friend, and would not betray her. Times without number he had reverted to the question, but she always evaded his questions.
Only a few evenings before, while they were seated at one of the little tables on the lawn of the Welcome Club at the Earl’s Court Exhibition, of which he was a member, he had again referred to Maud, and asked her, in the interests of his inquiry, to give him some idea of what she had stated on that night when they last met.
“I really cannot tell you, Max,” was her reply, as she lifted her eyes to his in the dim light shed by the coloured lamps with which the place was illuminated. “Have I not already told you of the promise I gave her? You surely do not wish me to break it! Would it be fair, or just? I’m sure you, who are always loyal to a woman, would never wish me to mention what she told me.”