The Temptress

“He was identified by the papers upon him; therefore now the verdict has been given, you will wait, say, a week, so as not to appear in too great a hurry, then proceed to act as before.”

The other nodded, and removed his eyeglasses. His face preserved its keen craftiness.

“Nothing will transpire later? I mean nothing to our detriment.”

“Nothing can. It is absolutely impossible for the truth to be known unless you or I divulge it ourselves, and I think that is not probable,” he replied, with a mysterious smile.

“Scarcely. It would be an ugly matter for both of us.”

The Frenchman affected not to hear the reply. He twirled his carefully-waxed moustaches, and took a long, steady glance at his well-dressed figure in the dingy mirror over the mantelshelf.

“Well, Graham,” he said, “you know how to carry the business through. Holt and myself are at your disposal any time you require us, but don’t delay a day longer than necessary, for I tell you candidly we must have the money.”

“I assure you, my dear Bérard, I shall get the matter completed as soon as possible, for despatch will be the best course for all parties concerned, eh? Besides, as a matter of fact – ”

The sentence was interrupted by the entry of the clerk with a second card.

Mr Graham pushed the vestige of grey hair from his forehead. He looked puzzled and perplexed when he read the name of the person who desired an interview; but, quickly regaining his habitual coolness, he intimated to the lad that the request should be granted in a few minutes.

“Have you – er – anything more to say to me?” he asked, turning to Bérard. “I can do nothing in the matter for at least a week,” he continued, “but if Mr Holt and yourself will attend here at noon the day after to-morrow we can transact the necessary formalities, and take the first step towards realising.”

“That will suit admirably,” Bérard replied, with satisfaction. “I will not detain you longer, for I know you are busy;” and, shaking hands with his legal adviser, he made his exit by the door communicating direct with the passage.

“My most fervent hope is that our usual good luck will not desert us,” the old solicitor reflected, when the Frenchman had departed.

Having again touched the gong, the door opening into the clerk’s office admitted another client – Hugh Trethowen.

“Well, Graham, how are you?” he exclaimed, gayly tossing his hat and stick upon the table, and flinging himself into the chair just vacated by Victor.

“Thanks, I’m very well, Mr Hugh. Full of business, you know – full of business. Now, what is it you wish to consult me upon?”

“A rather delicate matter.”

The old man’s face grew grave, and much of the hectic flush vanished from his cheek. Readjusting the inevitable pince-nez, he leaned back and looked sharply at his visitor.

“A delicate matter,” the solicitor repeated slowly. “Any financial difficulty – eh?”

“No, not at all,” he laughed. “It’s with regard to a lady.”

“Ah,” ejaculated the solicitor, heaving an unmistakable sigh of relief.

“What I want to know, Graham, is whether you, as my late brother’s adviser, were aware that he was acquainted with a French lady named Dedieu?”

So suddenly was the question put that it caused him to start slightly. Although it was a poser, Bernard Graham was not nonplussed.

“Dedieu? – Dedieu?” he repeated thoughtfully, at the same time nervously twirling a quill between his fingers. “The name is uncommon, and not at all familiar to me. I – I’m sure I don’t remember ever hearing it before.”

“You don’t believe, then, that my brother ever knew such a person?” asked Hugh.

“Well, really, how is it possible that I should know?” asked Graham, with suavity. “It was scarcely likely he would make me acquainted with matters of that description.”

Hugh plied him with several well-directed questions, but the old man’s memory was peculiarly vacant at that moment. He shook his head, reiterating his statement that his mind was perfectly blank upon the subject, declaring emphatically that he never heard of such a young person as Mademoiselle Valérie, whoever she was.

Such an element of truth did this statement possess, and so blandly was it delivered, that Hugh felt perfectly satisfied. For some time past he had been very much perturbed by the curious discovery of the photograph and letters, but his misgivings were now set at rest by this reassurance.

“Well, if you really don’t know her, I need not take up any more of your time,” he remarked, rising.

“I assure you, Mr Hugh, as the trusted adviser of your family, it would give me the utmost pleasure to assist you if I could, but her existence is quite unknown to me,” protested the old man. “Was she a friend of yours, may I ask?” he added, with a mischievous twinkle in his dim eye.

“Well, yes, Graham. I have the pleasure of the lady’s acquaintance.”

“Ah, I thought so. Young men are not so eager about a woman’s antecedents unless they love her.”

“Form your own conclusions, Graham. I’ve an appointment, so good-day.”

Laughing gayly, he departed, the old man bowing him out obsequiously.

After he had gone, the occupant of the dingy chamber stood for a long time before the fire cleaning his pince-nez upon his silk handkerchief, thinking over the errands of his two clients – so strangely dissimilar, yet so closely allied.

Chapter Thirteen

Studio Secrets

“If you please, sir, a lady wants to see you very particularly.”

“A lady, Jacob,” exclaimed Hugh Trethowen, who was in the lazy enjoyment of a cigar and a novel in his sitting-room, at the close of a dull, wet January day. “Who is she?”

“I don’t know, sir. She wouldn’t give her card.”

“Young?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Pretty?”

“Well, I suppose I’m not much of a judge at my time of life, Master Hugh,” protested the old servant.

“Get along with you,” laughed his master. “You can yet distinguish a pretty girl from a fossilised hag, I’ll be bound. Show her in, and let’s have a look at her.” Rising, he glanced at himself in the mirror, settled his tie, and smoothed his hair; for the appearance of a lady was an unusual phenomenon at his rooms.

When the door opened he walked towards it to welcome his visitor, but halted halfway in amazement.

“Why, Dolly, is it you?” he exclaimed, gripping her gloved hand.

“Yes, Mr Trethowen; I – I don’t think I ought to have come here – to your chambers,” she replied, glancing round the room rather timidly; “but I wanted to tell you something.”

“Surely there’s no harm in interviewing the lion in his den, is there?” he asked, laughing. “Come, let me help you off with your cloak.”

At first she hesitated, declaring that she could only remain a few minutes, but eventually he persuaded her to allow him to remove the fur-lined garment – an Operation in which he displayed a rather excessive amount of care.