"That's hardly likely, Ca.s.sis, since she believes it is Barraclough they've got hold of."

"Women are very tricky. I don't trust 'em! Suppose they've made it uncomfortable for Frencham Altar, what? Well it was only to be expected."

The callous practicality of tone fired Cranbourne to answer:

"Expected, yes. But one of these days if there's any justice knocking about this old world of ours we shall have to pay."

"Five thousand was the price," retorted Ca.s.sis.

It is probable there might have been a row had not Mr. Torrington intervened with the suggestion that Frencham Altar's cheque should be signed while they were waiting. Ca.s.sis obstructed the idea. He thought tomorrow would be quite soon enough. He scouted Mr.

Torrington's statement that on the morrow they would have to see about Frencham Altar's release. He said that this was a matter dependant on Barraclough's return.

"Our contract with Altar terminated at eleven tonight," insisted Mr.

Torrington. "Kindly sign this cheque beneath my signature."

And very grumblingly Ca.s.sis obliged.

"We have staked a lot of money on this affair," he said.

"Yes, and not a little reputation," replied the old man.

"Don't follow your reasoning."

"I'm getting old, Ca.s.sis, reaching the age when the hereafter becomes the nearafter."

"Then I should retire from business before you waste any more money,"

said Ca.s.sis with surprising venom.

But Mr. Torrington did not resent the remark since he knew how nerves affect certain dispositions.

The arrival of Lord Almont Frayne, resplendent from the Opera, relieved the situation of tension. It would have taken a very practised eye to detect anxiety under the mask of bored and elegant indifference he had a.s.sumed. He apologised for being late, but had been b.u.t.ton-holed by a fellow in the foyer who wanted to talk polo. Very disappointing evening altogether. The prima donna had sung flat and an understudy was on for Tenor's part. It was only as an after thought he mentioned the object of their meeting and he touched upon it in the lightest vein.

"Nothing doing?"

"Nothing."

"Ah! well, it's early yet. Hot ain't it? Mind if I get myself a peg?"

He was crossing to the decanter when he stopped, drew an envelope from his pocket and placed it on the table before Mr. Torrington.

"What do you make of that?" he asked. "Came early this morning, no post mark--nothing--just slipped through the box."

Hilbert Torrington took from the envelope a single flower pressed almost flat. It was a dog rose.

"Odd," he muttered, "distinctly odd." He weighed the flower in his hand and sniffed the envelope critically. It had no scent. "You have no one, Almont--I mean, there isn't anyone who'd be likely to--Well, you're a young man."

"Oh, Lord! no, nothing of that kind."

And Almont's inflection suggested that the very idea of such a thing caused him pain.

Hilbert Torrington pursed his lips and stared at the ceiling.

"What does a dog rose suggest to you, Ca.s.sis?"

"A silly interruption," replied that gentleman sourly.

"Yes, yes, but was there not--dear me, it's so long ago I've almost forgotten--was there not some floral Lingua Franca--Ah! the language of flowers."

Ca.s.sis snorted, but Cranbourne was at the book shelves in an instant.

"It's printed at the back of dictionaries," he said. "Here's one!" He took out a volume and turned over the pages as he spoke. "This is it.

Rose--Love. Yellow rose--jealousy. White rose--I am worthy of you.

Dog rose--Hope."

"Hope," repeated Mr. Torrington.

Lord Almont struck the table and sprang to his feet.

"By G.o.d!" he cried. "Barraclough's going to win through."

In the midst of a babel of tongues the telephone rang imperatively.

Mr. Torrington picked up the receiver.

"Yes, yes," he said. "Who? You are speaking for Mr. Van Diest."

The three other men came instantly to attention and exchanged glances.

There was a pause. Then Mr. Torrington said:

"Indeed! Oh, very well--delightful," and he replaced the receiver.

"What's happened?" Almont demanded.

"I don't entirely know. But it appears that Van Diest and his amiable colleague Hipps, are shortly paying us a visit--here."

There was a moment of consternation.

"But Good Lord!" exclaimed Cranbourne. "That may mean anything."

Nugent Ca.s.sis threw up his hands desperately. Every vestige of his quiet business habit had vanished and instead he was a nerve-racked exasperated man who paced up and down jerking out half sentences, reproaches and forecasts of failure.

"It's that fellow Frencham Altar given us away. d.a.m.n stupid introducing the type--man on a bench--Means ruin to the lot of us.

Coming here are they? Refuse to see them. I knew there'd be a break down somewhere--felt it in my joints--If everything had gone according to schedule, Barraclough would have been back by now--Punctual man--reliable----"

"Big stakes involve big risks," said Mr. Torrington sweetly.

"And haven't we taken them?" Ca.s.sis barked. "Good Heavens alive!

why--What's that?"

There was a murmur of voices in the hall, the room door was thrown open, and Isabel Irish came in breathlessly. She threw a quick glance round the circle of faces as though seeking someone.