"I was hoping," he said, "that we might have another supper together. Unfortunately, I have an engagement."
"An engagement?" she repeated, her face falling.
Laverick loved the truth and he seldom hesitated to tell it.
"It is rather an odd thing," he declared. "You remember that woman at Luigi's last night--Mademoiselle Idiale?"
"Of course."
"She came to my office to-day and gave me six thousand pounds to invest for her. She made me take her out and show her where the murder was committed, and asked a great many questions about it. Then she insisted that I should go and hear her sing this evening, and I find that I was expected to take her on to supper afterwards. I excused myself for a little while, but I have promised to go to Luigi's, where she will be."
The girl was silent for a moment.
"Where are we going now, then?" she asked.
"Wherever you like. I can take you home first, or I can leave you anywhere."
She looked at him with a piteous little smile.
"The last two nights you have spoiled me," she said. "I have so many evil thoughts and I am afraid to go home."
"I am sorry. If I could think of anything or anywhere--"
"No, you must take me home, please," said she. "It was selfish of me. Only Mademoiselle Idiale is such a wonderful person. Do you think that she will want you every night?"
"Of course not," he laughed. "Come, I will make an engagement with you. We will have supper together to-morrow evening."
She brightened up at once.
"I wonder," she asked timidly, a few minutes afterwards, "have you heard anything from Arthur? He promised to send a telegram from Queenstown."
Laverick shook his head. He said nothing about the marconigram he had sent, or the answer which he had received informing him that there was no such person on board. It seemed scarcely worth while to worry her.
"I have heard nothing," he replied. "Of course, he must be half-way to America by now."
"There have been no more inquiries about him?" she asked.
"No more than the usual ones from his friends, and a few creditors. The latter I am paying as they come. But there is one thing you ought to do with me. I think we ought to go to his rooms and lock up his papers and letters. He never even went back, you know, after that night."
She nodded thoughtfully.
"When would you like to do this?"
"I am so busy just now that I am afraid I can spare no time until Monday afternoon. Would you go with me then?"