Taylor looked at him curiously. There was in his eyes a look that spoke of more than a faint hope of success. Few knew better than Duncan of his ability to make men and women his tools.
“Jim,” he said with an air of confidence, “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if she offered to help us.”
The door opened and Peter entered.
“Miss Ethel Cartwright,” he announced.
Taylor rose to his feet as she entered and bowed with what grace he could as he motioned her to a chair.
Miss Cartwright was a tall, strikingly pretty woman of twenty-seven, who looked at the deputy-surveyor with the perfect self-possession which comes so easily to those whose families have long been of the cultured and leisured classes. It was plain that this rather languid young lady regarded him merely as some official whom she was bound to see regarding a matter of business.
“Sorry if I kept you waiting, Miss Cartwright,” Taylor said briskly.
“It doesn’t matter in the least,” she returned graciously. “I’ve never been at the Customs before. I found it quite interesting.”
“My name is Taylor,” he said, “and I’m a deputy-surveyor.”
“You wanted to see me about a ring, I think, didn’t you?”