“Lady Carey,” he said, “they’re all gone but the mater and I. Forgive my interrupting you,” he added hastily.
“You can go on, Herbert,” she added. “The Duc de Souspennier will bring me.”
Mr. Sabin, who had no intention of doing anything of the sort, turned towards the young man with a smile.
“Lady Carey has not introduced us,” he said, “but I have seen you at Ranelagh quite often. If you are still keen on polo you should have a try over here. I fancy you would find that these American youngsters can hold their own. All right, Felix, I am ready now. Lady Carey, I shall do myself the honour of waiting upon you early to-morrow morning, as I have a little excursion to propose. Good-night.”
She shrugged her shoulders ever so slightly as she turned away. Mr. Sabin smiled—faintly amused. He turned to Felix.
“Come,” he said, “we have no time to lose.”
“I regret,” Mr. Sabin said to Felix as they sat side by side in the small coupe, “that your stay in this country will be so brief.”
“Indeed,” Felix answered. “May I ask what you call brief?”
Mr. Sabin looked out of the carriage window.
“We are already,” he said, “on the way to England.”
“This,” he said, “is like old times.”
Mr. Sabin smiled.
“The system of espionage here,” he remarked, “is painfully primitive. It lacks finesse and judgment. The fact that I have taken expensive rooms on the Campania, and that I have sent many packages there, that my own belongings are still in my rooms untouched, seems to our friends conclusive evidence that I am going to attempt to leave America by that boat. They have, I believe, a warrant for my arrest on some ridiculous charge which they intend to present at the last moment. They will not have the opportunity.”
“But there is no other steamer sailing to-morrow, is there?” Felix asked.
“Not from New York,” Mr. Sabin answered, “but it was never my intention to sail from New York. We are on our way to Boston now, and we sail in the Saxonia at six o’clock to-morrow morning.”
“We appear to be stopping at the Waldorf,” Felix remarked.
“It is quite correct,” Mr. Sabin answered. “Follow me through the hall as quickly as possible. There is another carriage waiting at the other entrance, and I expect to find in it Duson and my dressing-case.”
They alighted and made their way though the crowded vestibules. At the Thirty-fourth Street entrance a carriage was drawn up. Duson was standing upon the pavement, his pale, nervous face whiter than ever under the electric light. Mr. Sabin stopped short.
“Felix,” he said, “one word. If by any chance things have gone wrong they will not have made any arrangements to detain you. Catch the midnight train to Boston and embark on the Saxonia. There will be a cable for you at Liverpool. But the moment you leave me send this despatch.”