“I’ve been out to a scent shop in Regent Street,” she explained. “Sylvia and her mother have gone to tea at Lady Burford’s, and I’m busy preparing to go over to Paris.”
“When do you leave?”
“About next Wednesday, I think. My aunt is coming from Bordeaux, and I meet her at the Hôtel Bristol.”
The mystery of her interview with Paget, and its effect upon her, caused him to ponder as he walked to Upper Brook Street, where he left her at Mrs. Beverley’s door, asking her to give a message to Sylvia that he had been compelled to get back to Warley.
In order to further endeavour to probe the mystery surrounding the man Paget, Geoffrey next afternoon, after leaving Marconi House at a quarter past five, called unexpectedly upon him at his chambers.
Paget, who was seated before the fire in the ease of a black velvet lounge coat, jumped up, greeted him warmly, and bade him be seated in the deep cosy arm-chair opposite, expressing delight that he had called.
“We’ll dine together,” he said, as he passed him the cigarette-box. “Seen Peterson to-day?”
“No. I haven’t been at Chelmsford to-day,” Falconer replied.
“I met another of your fellows from the Works the day before yesterday—a friend of Peterson. He tells me that your printing device is most wonderful—and there’s a lot of money in it. I hope you’ve patented it.”
“Not yet,” replied the young fellow frankly, “but I mean to do so in a day or so—when I get the circuits drawn out.”