“She was very mysterious,” Tavernake answered.  “She spoke of some danger of which you knew nothing.  Before I came away, she offered me a hundred pounds to let her know where you were.”

Beatrice laughed softly.

“That is just like Elizabeth,” she declared.  “You must have made her very angry.  When she wants anything, she wants it very badly indeed, and she will never believe that every person has not his price.  Money means everything to her.  If she had it, she would buy, buy, buy all the time.”

“On the face of it,” Tavernake remarked, soberly, “her offer seemed rather an absurd one.  If she is in earnest, if she is really so anxious to discover your whereabouts, she will certainly be able to do so without my help.”

“I am not so sure,” Beatrice replied.  “London is a great hiding place.”

“A private detective,” he began,—­

Beatrice shook her head.

“I do not think,” she said, “that Elizabeth will care to employ a private detective.  Tell me, have you to see her upon this business again?”

“I am going to her flat at the Milan Court to-morrow morning at eleven o’clock.”

Beatrice leaned back in her chair.  Presently she recommenced her dinner.  She had the air of one to whom a respite has been granted.  Tavernake, in a way, began to resent this continued silence of hers.  He had certainly hoped that she would at least have gone so far as to explain her anxiety to keep her whereabouts secret.

“You must remember,” he went on, after a short pause, “that I am in a somewhat peculiar position with regard to you, Beatrice.  I know so little that I do not even know how to answer in your interests such questions as Mrs. Wenham Gardner asked me.  I am not complaining, but is this state of absolute ignorance necessary?”

A new thought seemed to come to Beatrice.  She looked at her companion curiously.

“Tell me,” she asked, “what did you think of Mrs. Wenham Gardner?”

Tavernake answered deliberately, and after a moment’s reflection.

“I thought her,” he said, “one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen in my life.  That is not saying very much, perhaps, but to me it meant a good deal.  She was exceedingly gracious and her interest in you seemed quite real and even affectionate.  I do not understand why you should wish to hide from such a woman.”

“You found her attractive?” Beatrice persisted.

“I found her very attractive indeed,” Tavernake admitted, without hesitation.  “She had an air with her.  She was quite different from all the women I have ever met at the boarding-house or anywhere else.  She has a face which reminded me somehow of the Madonnas you took me to see in the National Gallery the other day.”

Beatrice shivered slightly.  For some reason, his remark seemed to have distressed her.

“I am very, very sorry,” she declared, “that Elizabeth ever came to your office.  I want you to promise me, Leonard, that you will be careful whenever you are with her.”