The Great Secret | Page 8

certain of it. I determined not to leave the hotel.
"Well," I said, "we will look upon the whole affair last night as a misunderstanding. I will keep on my room for to-night, at any rate. I shall be having some friends to dine in the restaurant."
The man's face expressed anything but pleasure.
"Just as you like, Mr. Courage," he said. "Of course, if, under the circumstances, you preferred to leave us, we should quite understand it!"
"I shall stay for to-night, at any rate," I answered. "I am only up for a day or two."
He walked with me to the door. I hesitated for a moment, and then asked him the question which had been in my mind for some time.
"By the bye, Mr. Blumentein," I said, "if it is a permissible question, may I ask the name of the young lady with whom you were talking in the hall just now--a young lady with a French maid and a Japanese spaniel?"
Mr. Blumentein was perceptibly paler. His eyes were full of suspicion, almost fear.
"Why do you ask me that?" he inquired sharply.
"Out of curiosity, I am afraid," I answered readily. "I am sorry if I have been indiscreet!"
The man made an effort to recover his composure. I could see, though, that, for some reason, my question had disquieted him.
"The lady's name is Miss Van Hoyt," he said slowly. "I believe that she is of a very well-known American family. She came here with excellent recommendations; but, beyond her name, I really know very little about her. Nothing more I can do for you, Mr. Courage?"
"Nothing at all, thank you," I answered, moving towards the door.
"They have just telephoned down to say that a gentleman has called for you--Sir Gilbert Hardross, I believe."
I nodded and glanced at the clock.
"Thanks!" I said, "I must hurry."
"I will reserve a table for you in the restaurant to-night, sir," Mr. Blumentein said, bowing me out.
"For three, at eight o'clock," I answered.
CHAPTER IV
A MATCH AT LORD'S
My cousin, Gilbert Hardross, was eight years older than I, and of intensely serious proclivities. He was, I believe, a very useful member of the House, and absolutely conscientious in the discharge of what he termed his duty to his constituents. We drove down together to Lord's, and knowing him to be a person almost entirely devoid of imagination, I forbore to make any mention of the events of the previous night. One question, however, I did ask him.
"What sort of an hotel is the Universal supposed to be, Gilbert? Rather a queer lot of people staying there, I thought."
My cousin implied by a gesture that he was not surprised.
"Very cosmopolitan indeed," he declared. "It is patronized chiefly, I believe, by a certain class of Americans and gentlemen of the sporting persuasion. The restaurant, of course, is good, and a few notabilities stay there now and then. I should have thought the Carlton would have suited you better."
I changed the subject.
"How are politics?" I asked.
He looked at me as though in reproach at the levity of my question.
"You read the papers, I suppose?" he remarked. "You know for yourself that we are passing through a very critical time. Never," he added, "since I have been in the House, have I known such a period of anxiety."
Considering that Gilbert represented a rural constituency, and that his party was not even in office, I felt inclined to smile. However, I took him seriously.
"Same old war scare, I suppose?" I remarked.
"It has been a 'scare' for a good many years," he replied seriously. "People seem inclined to forget that behind the shadow all the time there is the substance. I happen to know that there is a great deal of tension just now at the Foreign Office!"
"Things seem pretty much as they were six months ago," I remarked. "There is no definite cause for alarm, is there?"
"No definite cause, perhaps, that we know of," my cousin answered; "but there is no denying the fact that an extraordinary amount of apprehension exists in the best informed circles. As Lord Kestelen said to me yesterday, one seems to feel the thunder in the air."
I was thoughtful for a moment. Perhaps, after all, I was inclined to envy my cousin. My own life was a simple and wholesome one enough, but it was far removed indeed from the world of great happenings. Just then, I felt the first premonitions of dissatisfaction.
"I believe I'm sorry after all, that I didn't go in for a career of some sort," I remarked.
My cousin looked gratified. He accepted my regret as a tribute to his own larger place in the world.
"In some respects," he admitted, "it is regrettable. Yet you must remember that you are practically the head of the family. I have the title, but you have the estates and the money.