“I—well, it was too late, and so I didn’t attempt to catch the train.”
“Why too late?” asked Statham, reprovingly. “In a matter of business—and especially of the magnitude of yours at this moment—one should never be behindhand. Your arrival in Belgrade twenty-four hours late may mean a loss of about twenty thousand to the firm.”
“I hope not, sir,” Rolfe exclaimed, quickly. “I trust that the business will go through all right. I—I did my best to catch the train!”
“Your best! Why, you had half a day in which to pack and get to Charing Cross!”
“I quite admit that, but I was prevented.”
“By what?” asked Statham, fixing his eyes upon the young man before him.
“By a matter of private business.”
“Yes—a woman! You may as well admit it, Rolfe, for I know all about it. You can’t deceive me, you know.”
The other’s face went ghastly white, much to Statham’s surprise. The latter saw that he had unconsciously touched a point which had filled his secretary with either shame or fear, and made a mental note of it.
“I don’t deny it, sir,” he faltered, much confused. He had no idea that his employer had any knowledge of Maud.