“I somehow don’t like that man, Geoffrey,” the girl said as soon as she was seated beside him and the car turned out into the busy Hastings street. “He seemed so inquisitive.”
“I thought so, too. But probably he wanted to know who we were,” laughed Falconer. “Though he got no change out of me.”
“Did you notice that he wore, even at lunch, a glove upon his left hand? I think it is to cover some deformity. It seemed to be of unbleached calico, and covered with some kind of flesh-coloured paint.”
“Yes. I noticed it. But by his manner and speech he seems a gentleman—and a thorough cosmopolitan, without a doubt. He has apparently been half over the world,” he replied, and then the conversation dropped as he quickened speed to overtake a tram-car.
That same night the stranger, who wore the flesh-coloured calico glove, attired in a dinner-jacket, lounged about the entrance-hall of the Piccadilly Grill for about a quarter of an hour, until at last he was joined by the person for whom he had been waiting, a smartly-dressed French girl, who possessed all the chic and mannerisms of the true Parisienne. Having left her cloak, the pair went in and dined at a table à deux, which had been reserved for them in a corner.
The waiter, apparently knowing them both as regular patrons of the place, served them well. Over the table the man in a low tone related the coffee incident at Hastings, and the girl seemed to regard the adventure as huge fun.
“Oh! Teddy, I do wish I had been with you!” the girl said in rather broken English. “Mon Dieu! I’ve had a dull, miserable day! I went up to Hampstead to see George, but he has gone away, and his landlady says she has no idea when he will be back.”
“That’s sudden,” exclaimed the man, knitting his brows. “I wonder if anything has happened? George was not due to leave London till next Saturday morning—and then he was going over to Stockholm on a very important little bit of business. I arranged it all only yesterday. And now he’s gone!”
“Yes. And the old woman did not seem to know anything. Mr. Jordon had, she said, left very hurriedly with only a suit-case. And he left no message either for you or for myself.”
“Looks a bit fishy, Gabrielle,” the man remarked, staring at the tablecloth.