He got up and took his hat and stick.
“And yet,” he murmured to himself, “our gentleman knows all about them. I wonder now, yes, I wonder!”
XVIII
Derek Lunches
Derek Kettering went straight to the Negresco, where he ordered a couple of cocktails and disposed of them rapidly; then he stared moodily out over the dazzling blue sea. He noted the passersby mechanically—a damned dull crowd, badly dressed, and painfully uninteresting; one hardly ever saw anything worthwhile nowadays. Then he corrected this last impression rapidly, as a woman placed herself at a table a little distance away from him. She was wearing a marvellous confection of orange and black, with a little hat that shaded her face. He ordered a third cocktail; again he stared out to sea, and then suddenly he started. A well-known perfume assailed his nostrils, and he looked up to see the orange-and-black lady standing beside him. He saw her face now, and recognised her. It was Mirelle. She was smiling that insolent, seductive smile he knew so well.
“Derek!” she murmured. “You are pleased to see me, no?”
She dropped into a seat the other side of the table.
“But welcome me, then, stupid one,” she mocked.
“This is an unexpected pleasure,” said Derek. “When did you leave London?”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“A day or two ago.”
“And the Parthenon?”
“I have, how do you say it?—given them the chuck!”
“Really?”
“You are not very amiable, Dereek.”
“Do you expect me to be?”
Mirelle lit a cigarette and puffed at it for a few minutes before saying:
“You think, perhaps, that it is not prudent so soon?”
Derek stared at her, then he shrugged his shoulders, and remarked formally:
“You are lunching here?”
“Mais oui. I am lunching with you.”
“I am exceedingly sorry,” said Derek. “I have a very important engagement.”
“Mon Dieu! But you men are like children,” exclaimed the dancer. “But yes, it is the spoilt child that you act to me, ever since that day in London when you flung yourself out of my flat, you sulk. Ah! mais c’est inouï!”
“My dear girl,” said Derek, “I really don’t know what you are talking about. We agreed in London that rats desert a sinking ship, that is all that there is to be said.”
In spite of his careless words, his face looked haggard and strained. Mirelle leaned forward suddenly.
“You cannot deceive me,” she murmured. “I know—I know what you have done for me.”
He looked up at her sharply. Some undercurrent in her voice arrested his attention. She nodded her head at him.
“Ah! have no fear; I am discreet. You are magnificent! You have a superb courage, but, all the same, it was I who gave you the idea that day, when I said to you in London that accidents sometimes happened. And you are not in danger? The police do not suspect you?”
“What the devil—”
“Hush!”
She held up a slim olive hand with one big emerald on the little finger.
“You are right; I should not have spoken so in a public place. We will not speak of the matter again, but our troubles are ended; our life together will be wonderful—wonderful!”
Derek laughed suddenly—a harsh, disagreeable laugh.
“So the rats come back, do they? Two million makes a difference—of course it does. I ought to have known that.” He laughed again. “You will help me to spend that two million, won’t you, Mirelle? You know how, no woman better.” He laughed again.
“Hush!” cried the dancer. “What is the matter with you, Derek? See—people are turning to stare at you.”
“Me? I will tell you what is the matter. I have finished with you, Mirelle. Do you hear? Finished!”
Mirelle did not take it as he expected her to do. She looked at him for a minute or two, and then she smiled softly.
“But what a child! You are angry—you are sore, and all because I am practical. Did I not always tell you that I adored you?”
She leaned forward.
“But I know you, Derek. Look at me—see, it is Mirelle who speaks to you. You cannot live without her, you know it. I loved you before, I will love you a hundred times more now. I will make life wonderful for you—but wonderful. There is no one like Mirelle.”
Her eyes burned into his. She saw him grow pale and draw in his breath, and she smiled to herself contentedly. She knew her own magic and power over men.
“That is settled,” she said softly, and gave a little laugh. “And now, Dereek, will you give me lunch?”
“No.”
He drew in his breath sharply and rose to his feet.
“I am sorry, but I told you—I have got an engagement.”
“You are lunching with someone else? Bah! I don’t believe it.”
“I am lunching with that lady over there.”
He crossed abruptly to where a lady in white had just come up the steps. He addressed her a little breathlessly.
“Miss Grey, will you—will you have lunch with me? You met me at Lady Tamplin’s, if you remember.”
Katherine looked at him for a minute or two with those thoughtful grey eyes that said so much.
“Thank you,” she said, after a moment’s pause; “I should like to very much.”
XIX
An Unexpected Visitor
The Comte de la Roche had just finished déjeuner, consisting of an omelette fines herbes, an entrecôte Bearnaise, and a Savarin au Rhum. Wiping his fine black moustache delicately with his table napkin, the Comte rose from the table. He passed through the salon of the villa, noting with appreciation the few objets d’art which were carelessly scattered about. The Louis XV snuffbox, the satin shoe worn by Marie Antoinette, and the other historic trifles were part of the Comte’s mise-en-scène. They were, he would explain to his fair visitors, heirlooms in his family. Passing
