"And what you told me in the City you are prepared to stand by?"

The Scot put out his big hands, saying:

"Mr Statham, what I've told ye I stick to."

"Duncan," said the great man, clasping the hand offered him. "You were my friend once--my best friend--and you will be so again."

"If ye'll let me be," answered the other warmly. Statham could read a man's innermost character at a glance. He was seldom, if ever, mistaken. He looked into Macgregor's eyes, and saw truth and friendship there.

As Levi watched the two men his lip curled slightly. He was a cynic, and did not approve of this outburst of sentimentality on the part of his master. Samuel Statham, the man of millions and the controller of colossal interests, should, he declared within himself, be above such an exhibition of his own heart.

"Is it not strange," remarked Statham, as though speaking to himself, "that you should actually have been engaged in my works without knowing that it was the head of the firm who was indebted to you for his life?"

"Ay, the world's only a sma' s.p.a.ce, after all," Duncan replied. "I was apprenticed to the firm, but soon got sick of a humdrum life. So I went out to South America to try ma fortune, an' we met. After the war I went to Caracas, and then back to Glasgie to the old firm, where I've been ever since. I thought that when the new company took the place over I'd be discharged as too old. Indeed, more than once Mr Rolfe has hinted at it."

"I don't think you'd need fear that, Duncan. Both you and I recollect scenes set in strong remembrance--scenes that are never to return. I had no idea it was you to whom the creditable work turned out at Glasgow was due until Rolfe told me all about you," and as he uttered those words a twinge of conscience shot through his mind as he recollected how he had ordered the man to be summarily discharged for daring to seek an interview. And then how, when he had entered his presence, he had handed him something that was far better destroyed. They had indeed destroyed it together.

He saw that Macgregor had no great love for Rolfe, but put it down to the fact that his secretary, being practically in charge of the works, had become out of favour with the men over the question of labour. The Scot had said nothing derogatory regarding Charlie, but merely expressed surprise that he had not been accorded an interview at once. Then he had urged that he had something of importance and of interest to impart.

"Well, you see, Macgregor," replied the millionaire, half apologetically; "the fact is I have to make it a rule to see n.o.body. Of course, to old friends, like yourself, I am always accessible, and delighted to have a chat, but if it were known that I received people, I should be besieged here all day long. I make it a rule not to allow anybody here in my house."

"Why?" asked the Scot, quite unconscious of the gravity of his inquiry.

He was in entire ignorance of the strange stories concerning the house wherein he was at that moment. The papers never mentioned them for fear of an action for libel. As far as he had seen there was nothing peculiar or extraordinary about the place. The hall and the library were very handsomely furnished, as befitted the home of one of England's wealthiest men. The fact that Levi had been called into conference even was not remarkable, for the reason had already been explained to him briefly, in half-a-dozen words.

"But you have your ain circle of good friends here, I suppose?"

suggested the Scot, as the great man had not replied to his question.

"No," replied Statham. "n.o.body comes here--n.o.body enters my door."

"But why?"

Master and servant exchanged glances. It was a direct question to which it was impossible to give a truthful reply without the revelation of a secret.

And so Samuel Statham lied to his best, humble yet most devoted friend.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

LONDON LOVERS.

Nearly three weeks had now pa.s.sed since the extraordinary disappearance of Dr Petrovitch and his daughter from the house in Cromwell Road.

The cleverness with which the removal of their household goods had been effected, and the cunning and ingenuity displayed regarding them, showed Max Barclay plainly that the disappearance had been carefully planned, and that those a.s.sisting had been well paid for keeping their secret.

And yet, after all, it was quite possible that the men who had removed the furniture from the house were merely hired for the job, and had gone away thinking they had acted quite legitimately. Harmer's Stores often engage extra hands, and what would have been easier than for the foreman to have paid them, and driven the van with the false name upon it to another part of London. That was, no doubt, what had really been done.

Max had devoted the greater part of his time to endeavouring to elucidate the mystery, but had failed ignominiously. The statement made by Marion concerning what seemed to be some confession of Maud's greatly puzzled him. His well-beloved was loyal to her friend, and would not betray her. Times without number he had reverted to the question, but she always evaded his questions.

Only a few evenings before, while they were seated at one of the little tables on the lawn of the Welcome Club at the Earl's Court Exhibition, of which he was a member, he had again referred to Maud, and asked her, in the interests of his inquiry, to give him some idea of what she had stated on that night when they last met.

"I really cannot tell you, Max," was her reply, as she lifted her eyes to his in the dim light shed by the coloured lamps with which the place was illuminated. "Have I not already told you of the promise I gave her? You surely do not wish me to break it! Would it be fair, or just?

I'm sure you, who are always loyal to a woman, would never wish me to mention what she told me."

"Of course. If it is anything against her reputation--her honour--then it is certainly best left unsaid," he replied quickly. "Only--well, I-- I thought, perhaps, it might give us a clue to the motive of their unaccountable flight."

"Perhaps it might," she admitted; "and yet I cannot tell you."

"Does Charlie know? Would he tell me, do you think?"

"I don't think Charlie knows. At any rate, she would not tell him. If he does know, it must be through some other source."

"And you antic.i.p.ate that what Maud told you had some connection with their sudden disappearance?" he asked, looking steadfastly into the face of the woman he dearly loved.

"I've already told you so."

"But when you parted from her that night, did you believe that you would not meet her again?"

She was silent, looking straight before her at the crowd of idlers circulating around the illuminated bandstand and enjoying the music and the cool air after the stifling London day.

At last she spoke, saying in a low, rather strained voice:

"I can hardly answer that question. Had I suspected anything unusual I think I should have mentioned my apprehension to you."

"Yes, I feel sure you would have done, dearest," he declared. "I quite see the difficulty of your present position. And you understand, I'm quite sure, how anxious I feel regarding the safety of the doctor, who was such a dear friend of mine."

"But why are you so anxious, Max?" she asked.

"Because if--well, if there had not been foul play, I should have heard from the doctor before this!" he said seriously.

"Foul play?" she gasped, starting forward. "Do you suspect some--some tragedy, then?"

"Yes, Marion," was his low, earnest reply. "I do."

"But why?" she queried. "Remember that the doctor was a diplomat and statesman. In Servia politics are very complex, as they are, I'm told, in every young nation. Our own English history was a strange and exciting one when we were the present age of Servia. The people killed King Alexander, it is true; but did we not kill King Charles?"

"Then you think that some political undercurrent is responsible for this disappearance?" he suggested.

"That has more than once crossed my mind."

"Yet would he not have sent word to me in secret?"

"No. He might fear spies. You yourself have told me how secret agents swarm in the Balkan countries, and that espionage is as bad there as in Russia."

"But we are in London--not in Servia."

"There are surely secret agents of the Servian Opposition party here in London!" she said. "You were telling me something about them once--some facts which the doctor had revealed to you."

"Yes, I remember," he remarked thoughtfully, feeling that in her argument there was much truth. "Yet I have a kind of intuition of the occurrence of some tragedy, Marion," he added, recollecting how her brother had stolen in secret from that denuded house.