The young man was Roddy Homfray. As a matter of fact, he had passed in a ’bus towards Hyde Park Corner, and seeing the awning outside Mr Sandys’ house, had alighted and out of sheer curiosity made his way back. At his side were two young girls of the true Cockney type, who were criticising each female guest as she arrived, and declaring what a joy it must be to be able to wear fine clothes and go to parties in a car.
Roddy was just about to turn away and cross to Waterloo to take the last train home, when among the cars he saw a fine grey Rolls in which a man and a woman were seated. Next second he craned his neck, and then crossed the road to obtain a nearer view of the pair.
“Yes,” he gasped aloud to himself, “that’s the woman. I’m certain! And the man? No, I’m not quite so sure. He was older, I think.”
Unseen, he narrowly watched the tallish, dark-haired, clean-shaven man alight, and saw him help out his companion, who was about forty, and wore a fur-trimmed evening wrap of gorgeous brocade and a beautiful diamond ornament in her dark hair.
“No! I’m not mistaken!” the young man muttered again to himself. “That’s the woman, without a doubt. But surely she can’t be a friend of Mr Sandys!”
That she was, was instantly proved by the fact that she ascended the red-carpeted steps followed by her companion, and they were received within by the bowing man-servant.
He watched them disappear, and a few moments afterwards he boldly mounted the steps to the door, where his passage was at once barred by a flunkey.
“I don’t want to come in,” said Roddy, in a low, confidential tone. “Do me a favour, will you? I’ll make it right with you. I want to know the names of that lady and gentleman who’ve this moment gone in.”
The servant viewed him rather suspiciously, and replied:
“Well, I don’t know them myself, for I haven’t been here long—only a week. But I’ll try to find out if you’ll come back, say, in a quarter of an hour.”