Ennison looked steadily at the cigarette which he was tapping on his
forefinger.
"So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?" he remarked.
"No doubt about that, I fancy," Meddoes answered lightly. "He ran some
Austrian fellow off. She was quite the rage, in a small way, you know.
Strange, demure-looking young woman, with wonderful complexion and
eyes, and a style about her, too. Care for a hundred up?"
Ennison shook his head.
"Can't stop, thanks," he answered. "See you to-night, I suppose?"
He sauntered off.
"I'm damned if I'll believe it," he muttered to himself savagely.
But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague.
* * * * * The same night he met Meddoes and Drummond together, the latter over
from Paris on a week's leave from the Embassy.
"Odd thing," Meddoes remarked, "we were just talking about the
Pellissier girl. Drummond was telling me about the way old Ferringhall
rounded upon them all at the club."
"Sounds interesting," Ennison remarked. "May I hear?"
"It really isn't much to tell," Drummond answered. "You know what a
fearful old prig Ferringhall is, always goes about as though the whole
world were watching him? We tried to show him around Paris, but he
wouldn't have any of it. Talked about his years, his position and his
constituents, and always sneaked off back to his hotel just when the
fun was going to begin. Well one night, some of us saw him, or thought
we saw him, at a cafe dining with 'Alcide,'--as a matter of fact, it
seems that it was her sister. He came into the club next day, and of
course we went for him thick. Jove, he didn't take to it kindly, I can
tell you. Stood on his dignity and shut us up in great style. It seems
that he was a sort of family friend of the Pellissiers, and it was the
artist sister whom he was with. The joke of it is that he's married to
her now, and cuts me dead."
"I suppose," Ennison said, "the likeness between the sisters must be
rather exceptional?"
"I never saw the goody-goody one close to, so I can't say," Drummond
answered. "Certainly I was a little way off at the cafe, and she had a
hat and veil on, but I could have sworn that it was 'Alcide.'"
"Is 'Alcide' still in Paris?" Ennison asked.
"Don't think so," Drummond answered. "I heard the other day that she'd
been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in
Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. Anyhow, she's
disappeared for some reason or other. Perhaps Ferringhall has
pensioned her off. He's the sort of johnny who wouldn't care about
having a sister-in-law on the loose."