CHAPTER XXXI "SHEEP OF THY PASTURE"
The autumn sun shone brightly into the artistic little sitting-room at the Berkeley Hotel, overlooking Piccadilly and the Green Park, where, next morning, I was seated alone with Lola.
She was dressed in a pretty, neatly-made gown of a delicate brown shade, with silk stockings and smart little shoes to match, and as she leaned back in her cosy arm-chair, her pointed chin upon her white hand, her big blue eyes, so full of expression, were turned upon me, their brows slightly knit in her earnestness.
Upon the centre table stood a big silver bowl of dahlias and autumn foliage, while upon a sideboard was lying a fine bouquet of roses which a page-boy had brought in as we had been chatting.
I related my strange experience of the previous night, whereupon she had said, in a low, intense voice—
"Yes. I heard yesterday afternoon, when I was at Vernon's house in Hampstead, that an attempt was to be made somewhere. But I was not told where."
"Lola," I exclaimed, taking her hand tenderly, and looking into her eyes, "I am here this morning to save you from these people, and to save myself. If we remain inactive like this, they will deal us both a secret blow. They fear you, and in addition they know that I have discovered who they are, and the truth concerning some of their crimes."
She nodded, but no sound escaped her lips.