The second step in his progress he took on the evening of the day after.

In the afternoon, about four, a shabbily-dressed man called upon him at his flat, and they remained together for ten minutes or so. At half-past eight, as Marion was about to enter a 'bus at Oxford Circus to take her up to Hampstead for a blow--a trip she frequently took in the evening when alone--she heard her name uttered, and turning, found Max's polite French friend behind her, about to mount on the same conveyance.

To avoid him was impossible, therefore they ascended to the top together, he declaring that he was on his way to Hampstead.

"I'm going there too," she told him, although he already knew it quite well. "Have you seen Mr Barclay to-day?"

"Not to-day. I have been busy in the City," Adam explained. He glanced at her, and could not refrain from noting her neat appearance, dressed as she was in a black skirt, white cotton blouse, and a black hat which suited her beauty admirably. He knew that she was at Cunnington's, but, of course, appeared in ignorance of the fact. He was most kind and courteous to her, and so well had he arranged the meeting that she believed it to be entirely an accident.

Presently, after they had chatted for some time, he sighed, saying--

"In a few days I suppose I must leave London again."

"Oh! are you going abroad?"

"Yes, to Constantinople. I live there," he said.

"In Constantinople! How very strange it must be to live among the Turks!"

"It is a very charming life, I a.s.sure you, Miss Rolfe," he answered.

"The Turk is always a gentleman, and his country is full of beauty and attraction, even though his capital may be muddy under foot."

"Oh, well," she said laughing, "I don't think I should care to live there. I should be afraid of them!"

"Your fears would be quite ungrounded," he declared. "A lady can walk unmolested in the streets of Constantinople at any hour of the day or night, which cannot be said, of your London here."

Then, after a pause, he added--

"I think your friend Mr Barclay is coming with me."

"With you?--to Constantinople?" she exclaimed in dismay. "When?"

"In two or three days," he replied. "But you mustn't tell him I said so," he went on. "We are going out on business--business that will bring us both a sum of money that will be a fortune to me, if not to Mr Barclay. We are in partnership over it."

"What nature is the business?"

"The building of a railroad to the Adriatic. We are obtaining permission from the Sultan for its construction."

"And Max--I mean Mr Barclay--will make a large sum?" she asked with deep interest.

"Yes, if he decides to go," replied Adam; "but I fear very much one thing," and he fixed his dark eyes upon hers.

"What do you fear?"

"Well--how shall I put it, Miss Rolfe?" he asked. "I--I fear that he will refuse to go because he does not wish to leave London just now."

"Why not?"

"He has an attraction here," the man laughed--"yourself."

She coloured slightly. Max had probably told this friend that they were lovers.

"Oh! that's quite foolish. He must go, if it is really in his interests."

"Exactly," declared Adam. "I have all my life been looking for such a chance to make money, and it has at last arrived. He must go."

"Most certainly. I will urge him strongly."

"A word from you, Miss Rolfe, would decide him--but--well, don't you think it would be best if you did not tell him that we had met. He might not like it if he knew we had discussed his business affairs--eh?"

"Very well," she said. "I will say nothing. When he speaks to me about the suggested journey I will strongly advise him to go in his own interests."

"Yes; do. It will be the means of putting many thousands of pounds into both our pockets. The matter is, in fact, entirely in your hands. May I with safety leave it there?"

"With perfect safety, Mr Adam," was her reply. "It is, perhaps, fortunate that we should have met like this to-night."

"Fortunate!" he echoed. "Most fortunate for all of us. If you are really Mr Barclay's friend you will see that he goes with me."

"I am his friend, and he shall go if it is to his interest to do go."

"Ask him, and he will tell you," was the reply of the man who had lounged in Park Lane as a shabby stranger, and of whom old Sam Statham went in such deadly fear.

He went with Marion to the end of her journey, and then left her in pretence of walking to his destination.

But after he had raised his hat to her so politely, and bent over her hand, he turned on his heel muttering to himself--

"You think you are his friend, my poor, silly little girl! No. You will compel him to go with me to the East, and thus become my catspaw-- the tool of Jean Adam."

And giving vent to a short, dry laugh of triumph, he went on his way.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

SHOWS MR STATHAM AT HOME.

Many a man and many a woman, as they pa.s.sed up Park Lane on motor-'buses, in cabs, or on foot, glanced at the white house of Samuel Statham, and wondered.

The mystery concerning it and its owner always attracted them. Many were the weird stories afloat concerning it, stories greatly akin to those already told in a previous chapter. Men had watched, it was said, and had seen queer goings and comings. But as the matter concerned n.o.body in particular it merely excited public curiosity.

That Sam Statham was eccentric all the world knew. Society gossips in the papers were fond of referring to the millionaire as "the recluse of Park Lane" when recording some handsome donation to a charitable inst.i.tution, or expressing a surprise that he was never seen at public functions such as the opening of hospitals or children's homes which he had himself endowed.

But the word "eccentric" explained it all. As regards the mansion in Park Lane they were always silent, for the elastic law of libel is ever before the eyes of the journalist who deals in t.i.ttle-tattle.

Though the stories concerning the millionaire's residence were curious and sometimes sensational--many of them of course invented--yet colour was certainly lent to them by the fact that the old man saw n.o.body except Levi and his secretary, and n.o.body had ever been known to pa.s.s that closed door at the head of the staircase.

Anyone, however, catching a glimpse of the interior of the hall when pa.s.sing, saw old Levi in black, with his strip of spotless shirt-front, and behind, a wide hall with thick Turkey carpet, huge blue antique vases, carved furniture, and several fine pictures, the whole possessing an air of solidity and wealth. Beyond, however, was the Unknown and the Mysterious.

In the clubs and over dinner-tables the mystery of that Park Lane house was often spoken of. Men usually shook their heads and said little, but women expressed their opinion freely, and formed all sorts of wild theories.