“I needn’t warn you to observe great discretion concerning the nature of your employment, Mr. Merrick. Sir Denis is engaged upon a dangerous assignment and has entrusted me with the job of finding an additional assistant having certain qualifications. I think you are the man he’s looking for.”
The lissom secretary glided in again, laid a cheque on the desk, and glided out. Brian avoided glancing at the cabinet while Peter Wellingham signed the cheque.
Five minutes later Brian was striding along Park Lane. Wellingham, at parting, had walked to the doorstep, wished him good luck and shaken hands.
The slender white fingers were very cold. . .
* * *
As Peter Wellingham returned to the study, and before Brian had reached Park Lane, a section of the Burmese cabinet swung open, showing another room beyond.
A tall, gaunt man Stepped out, a man with a phenomenally high brow, crowned with a black cap not unlike a biretta; a man whose strange emerald green eyes seemed to gaze, not
He crossed and seated himself behind the desk. Peter Wellingham remained standing.
“For a moment, I feared”—he spoke pedantically exact English except that he stressed the sibilants—”that your peculiar personality had produced an unfortunate impression, Mr. Wellingham. This I should have regretted. I had Brian Merrick under close observation, and I am satisfied that he will admirably serve my purpose. But he inherits a streak of his father’s obstinacy, and at one time he considered declining the offer. That was why I called you from the room—your cue to draw his attention to the photographs.”
Peter Wellingham’s white forehead was damp. He had detected a note of menace in that strange voice.
“I should have been sorry, Doctor——”
“But too late. With your succession to the title I cannot interfere. But the facts concerning your political views, if suspected by Lord Chevradale, would have disastrous results for you.”
“I did my best, Doctor. I feel sure that he——”
“Be sure of no man. For the only man of whom you may be sure is yourself.”
“Shall I take steps to have Merrick covered during the time he remains in London?”
The brilliant eyes were raised in a penetrating glance.
“Such steps have already been taken. I fly to Cairo tonight. Your instructions concerning Brian Merrick will reach you through the usual channels.”
* * *
Brian hurried along Park Lane to his hotel. Lola was lunching with him, and he knew she would be pressed for time as usual. Lola Erskine was a designer for Michel, a famous Paris house which every season dictated to smart women the world over exactly what they must wear. Equally at home on Paris boulevard, Fifth Avenue, or Bond Street, he found her a fascinating companion.
He walked into the crowded lounge, looking eagerly around—and there was Lola, waving to him. He joined her, signalling to a waiter.
“Hello, Brian!” She greeted him with that half-amused and half-affectionate smile which he found so fascinating— although sometimes he vaguely suspected her of secretly laughing at him. “Don’t order anything for me, yet. Look, I have one already.”
“Have I kept you waiting?”
“Only five minutes. But I was dying for a drink. I had a desperately tough morning.”
“You don’t look like it! You look like a cover girl. Is that dress by Michel?”
“Why ask me! If I wore anything else I’d be fired on sight! Also, I get them at cost price.”
“Lola!” He grasped her arm as a waiter came along. “Don’t finish that martini or whatever it is. Share a bottle of champagne with me. It’s a celebration. I have picked up a wonderful job!”
Lola stared. She had dark grey-blue eyes which never seemed to join in her smiles; abstract, mysterious eyes.
“Not that thing I showed you in
He nodded. “Waiter, can I have a wine list?”
As the man went away:
“Is it something really good?” Lola asked. “I mean, worth a bottle of champagne?”
“It’s worth a case! Listen—I know you’ll have to rush right after lunch. There’s so much I want to say to you. Are you free for dinner tonight?”
“I can be, Brian—if you’re not being extravagant.”
“Next, I have to leave London at short notice. And I hate that part of it now I’ve met you.”
“That’s sweet of you. It all depends where you’re going. Michel has branches around the world and my job takes me to all of them.”
“I’m going to Cairo.”
“Cairo? No, we haven’t opened in Cairo so far. What kind of a job is this, Brian? Commercial or political?”
The waiter brought the wine list, which Brian handed to Lola.
“I won’t let you be extravagant,” she told him, “and if I’m to eat any lunch it will have to be only a half bottle. Say, a half of Piper Heidsieck, ‘49.”
As the waiter went away, Brian looked at Lola with frank admiration. She was unlike any woman he had ever known. Yet he felt that he had been looking for her all his life. He longed to know if his interest was returned; but those sombre eyes told him nothing.
“Lola, you’re out of this world!” he declared. “By long odds you’re the best-dressed and the prettiest girl in the lounge. You know all the answers, yet you’re as sweet to me as if I meant something.”
“Don’t turn around!” Lola whispered. “But there’s a queer-looking man sitting just behind us who seems to be interested in our conversation. This job of yours sounds rather hush-hush. Let’s talk about Michel and frocks and me until we go in to lunch. Then you can tell me all about it. . . .”
Brian had reserved a cosy corner table in the grill-room, and when they were seated:
“Any sign of the spy?” he asked.
Lola smiled and shook her head. “I may have misjudged him. But he really did seem to be listening. He hasn’t come in, anyway.”
“I’m glad of it. There certainly seems to be something unusual about my new job. But as you put it in my way, Lola, you’re entitled to know all about it. You had gone out when I got my mail this morning, and there was a very formal note which said something like ‘The Honourable Peter Wellingham would be obliged if Mr. Brian Merrick would call at the above address at 11 a.m. in connection with his application dated the 15th instant.’You know all about that kind of people, Lola. Who is Peter Wellingham?”
Lola looked confused, almost alarmed; but quickly recovered composure.
“He’s Lord Chevradale’s son.”
“Do you know him?” There was a note of suspicion in Brian’s voice.
“Not personally. But I have heard that he’s badly in debt.”
“That’s queer. Because he gave me a substantial advance on my salary. I hope it’s not a rubber cheque! But let me tell you.”
And so over lunch he told her all that had happened on this eventful morning, admitted that he had not taken to Peter Wellingham but that, because of the strong attractions of the job, he had overcome his prejudice, convinced that to work under Sir Denis Nayland Smith would be an education in itself.
Sitting there, facing a pretty girl and surrounded by normal, healthy people, many of them fellow Americans, with deft waiters moving from table to table, he dismissed the illusion of the green eyes behind the Burmese cabinet; decided not to mention it. ...
“I really owe this chance to travel to you, Lola. You saw the advertisement in
“It read like a job created purposely for you, Brian.” She smiled rather wistfully. “I know you wanted to see
