In the same way we must condone the behaviour of Cynthia Drassilis on opening the door of Mrs. Ford’s sitting-room and admitting, not Ogden, but this total stranger, who accompanied his entry with the remarkable speech recorded at the close of the last section.
She was a girl who prided herself on her carefully blasé and supercilious attitude towards life; but this changeling was too much for her. She released the handle, tottered back, and, having uttered a discordant squeak of amazement, stood staring, eyes and mouth wide open.
On Mrs. Ford the apparition had a different effect. The rather foolish smile of welcome vanished from her face as if wiped away with a sponge. Her eyes, fixed and frightened like those of a trapped animal, glared at the intruder. She took a step forward, choking.
“What—what do you mean by daring to enter my room?” she cried.
The man held his ground, unmoved. His bearing was a curious blend of diffidence and aggressiveness. He was determined, but apologetic. A hired assassin of the Middle Ages, resolved to do his job loyally, yet conscious of causing inconvenience to his victim, might have looked the same.
“I am sorry,” he said, “but I must ask you to let me have the boy, Mrs. Ford.”
Cynthia was herself again now. She raked the intruder with the cool stare which had so disconcerted Lord Mountry.
“Who is this gentleman?” she asked languidly.
The intruder was made of tougher stuff than his lordship. He met her eye with quiet firmness.
“My name is Mennick,” he said. “I am Mr. Elmer Ford’s private secretary.”
“What do you want?” said Mrs. Ford.
“I have already explained what I want, Mrs. Ford. I want Ogden.”
Cynthia raised her eyebrows.
“What does he mean, Nesta? Ogden is not here.”
Mr. Mennick produced from his breast-pocket a telegraph form, and in his quiet, businesslike way proceeded to straighten it out.
“I have here,” he said, “a telegram from Mr. Broster, Ogden’s tutor. It was one of the conditions of his engagement that if ever he was not certain of Ogden’s whereabouts he should let me know at once. He tells me that early this afternoon he left Ogden in the company of a strange young lady”—Mr. Mennick’s spectacles flashed for a moment at Cynthia—“and that, when he returned, both of them had disappeared. He made inquiries and discovered that this young lady caught the 1:15 express to London, Ogden with her. On receipt of this information I at once wired to Mr. Ford for instructions. I have his reply”—he fished for and produced a second telegram—“here.”
“I still fail to see what brings you here,” said Mrs. Ford. “Owing to the gross carelessness of his father’s employees, my son appears to have been kidnapped. That is no reason—”
“I will read Mr. Ford’s telegram,” proceeded Mr. Mennick unmoved. “It is rather long. I think Mr. Ford is somewhat annoyed. ‘The boy has obviously been stolen by some hireling of his mother’s.’ I am reading Mr. Ford’s actual words,” he said, addressing Cynthia with that touch of diffidence which had marked his manner since his entrance.
“Don’t apologize,” said Cynthia, with a short laugh. “You’re not responsible for Mr. Ford’s rudeness.”
Mr. Mennick bowed.
“He continued: ‘Remove him from her illegal restraint. If necessary call in police and employ force.’ ”
“Charming!” said Mrs. Ford.
“Practical,” said Mr. Mennick. “There is more. ‘Before doing anything else sack that fool of a tutor, then go to Agency and have them recommend good private school for boy. On no account engage another tutor. They make me tired. Fix all this today. Send Ogden back to Eastnor with Mrs. Sheridan. She will stay there with him till further notice.’ That is Mr. Ford’s message.”
Mr. Mennick folded both documents carefully and replaced them in his pocket.
Mrs. Ford looked at the clock.
“And now, would you mind going, Mr. Mennick?”
“I am sorry to appear discourteous, Mrs. Ford, but I cannot go without Ogden.”
“I shall telephone to the office to send up a porter to remove you.”
“I shall take advantage of his presence to ask him to fetch a policeman.”
In the excitement of combat the veneer of apologetic diffidence was beginning to wear off Mr. Mennick. He spoke irritably. Cynthia appealed to his reason with the air of a bored princess descending to argument with a groom.
“Can’t you see for yourself that he’s not here?” she said. “Do you think we are hiding him?”
“Perhaps you would like to search my bedroom?” said Mrs. Ford, flinging the door open.
Mr. Mennick remained uncrushed.
“Quite unnecessary, Mrs. Ford. I take it, from the fact that he does not appear to be in this suite, that he is downstairs making a late luncheon in the restaurant.”
“I shall telephone—”
“And tell them to send him up. Believe me, Mrs. Ford, it is the only thing to do. You have my deepest sympathy, but I am employed by Mr. Ford and must act solely in his interests. The law is on my side. I am here to fetch Ogden away, and I am going to have him.”
“You shan’t!”
“I may add that, when I came up here, I left Mrs. Sheridan—she is a fellow-secretary of mine. You may remember Mr. Ford mentioning her in his telegram—I left her to search the restaurant and grillroom, with instructions to bring Ogden, if found, to me in this room.”
The doorbell rang. He went to the door and opened it.
“Come in, Mrs. Sheridan. Ah!”
A girl in a plain, neat blue dress entered the room. She was a small, graceful girl of about twenty-five, pretty and brisk, with the air of one accustomed to look after herself in a difficult world. Her eyes were clear and steady, her mouth sensitive but firm, her chin the chin of one
