My charming little companion had been bright and cheerful all the evening, but had more than once, by clever questions, endeavoured to learn what had taken me to the Embassy on the previous night. I, however, did not deem it exactly advisable to alarm her unduly, either by telling her of my defiance of General Markoff, of my discovery of Danilo Danilovitch, or of the attempt to terrify me by the declaration that another plot was in progress.
Truth to tell, Tack, before his return to Petersburg, had run Danilovitch to earth in Lower Clapton, and two private detectives, engaged by me, were keeping the closest surveillance upon him.
Twice had we circled the theatre at the pierhead, and had twice strolled amid the seated audience around the bandstand where military music was being played in the moonlight, when we passed two young men in Homburg hats, wearing overcoats over their evening clothes. One of them, a tall, slim, dark-haired, good-looking, athletic young fellow, of perhaps twenty-two, raised his hat and smiled at my companion.
She nodded him a merry acknowledgment. Then, as we passed on, I exclaimed quickly:
“Hulloa! Is that some new friend—eh?”
“Oh, it’s really all right, Uncle Colin,” she assured me. “I’ve done nothing dreadful, now. You needn’t start lecturing me, you know, or be horrified at all.”
“I’m not lecturing,” I laughed. “I’m only consumed by curiosity. That’s all.”
“Ah! You’re like all men,” she declared. “And suppose I refuse to satisfy your curiosity—eh?”
“You won’t do that, I think,” was my reply, as we halted upon one of the long benches which ran on either side of the pier. “Remember, I am responsible to the Emperor for you, and I’m entitled to know who your friend is.”
“He’s an awfully nice boy,” was all she replied.