conversation possessed more sparkle. Yet, all the time, she was longing to be alone with the little blue-eyed man. From time to time her eye glanced at the clock. She gave a little sigh of relief as the hour of one chimed out.
“Now, positively, I am going to get rid of you all,” she said. “Of course it is a great compliment to me to feel that you don’t want to go, which is a boast few modem hostesses can make. Still, there really is no alternative, and I must contrive to get to Lexington House by half-past one.”
“I must be there before then,” Hardy said, as he rose to his feet. “Permit me to thank you for one of the most enjoyable hours I have ever spent. But I have no doubt I shall see you again before morning.”
Eleanor pressed Hardy’s hand tenderly. There was a liquid gleam in her eyes which thrilled him slightly, cold and self-contained as he usually was. He made his way towards the door, followed by one or two of the other guests. Some still lingered, as if loth to go, but Eleanor swept them aside imperiously but good-naturedly.
“It is very good of you all to offer to take me to Lexington House,” she said, “but, unfortunately, I have a little business to transact with Mr. Monkwell, which cannot be put off, unless, indeed, Mr. Monkwell would prefer to come the first thing in the morning. Would that do?”
Though there was a smile on Eleanor’s lips, at the same time her eyes flashed a challenge to the little jeweler. The blue eyes responded just for an instant, and then Monkwell became once more the clever subservient tradesman that he really was.
“As you please, madam,” he said. “Only in these matters delays are sometimes dangerous. I should not have come round had I not thought that it would be to your advantage—”
“That is quite enough,” Eleanor interrupted. “I am going to stay and have it out with Mr. Monkwell. You will all oblige me by departing at once. You may not be aware of it, but I am a most excellent woman of business.”
III. — THE ASPARAGUS FERN
THE last guest had been ushered out by the inscrutable butler, a sense of peace and quietness fell upon the flat, and Eleanor stood before the fire with one slim, white, satin foot upon the fender. She had her own reasons for not wishing Monkwell to see her face for the moment. The door had been closed by the butler; seated by the table, amongst the artistic litter of fruit and wine and flowers, was Monkwell, calmly smoking a cigarette. He had refused champagne, nor had he ventured to smoke till now. Eleanor turned upon him with a world of scorn in her dark eyes.
“Really, Mr. Monkwell, we are getting on,” she said. “I know that, for some time past, the barriers of Society have been breaking down, and that men and women nowadays find themselves among a class of people to which they are not accustomed.”
“That is precisely so,” Monkwell said in his boyish way.” At the present moment I see before me a most charming example of the type of individual you refer to.”
Eleanor quivered with a passion she could hardly restrain. There were few persons she was afraid of, few men from whom she would have shrunk, but Monkwell was one of them. She feared this man, she feared his peculiar air of innocence, she felt that he was an enigma. His words had been quiet enough, but she understood them perfectly. She came a step nearer the table herself and proceeded to light a cigarette in her turn.
“I have not much time,” she said, “because I have important business elsewhere. Still, I should like you to explain that remark of yours; even less dense people than myself might regard it as a piece of gross impertinence.”
“Not at all, not at all,” Monkwell said. “I meant every word of it. Ah, you are a clever and audacious woman, and some day you may land in a very high position indeed, but I know what I know and I keep my information to myself, unless you challenge me as you did just now. Then, perhaps, you will compel me to tell you a little story. Truly, it reads like a romance. Here is a girl, brought up in the heart of the country; she lives in the open air; her food is the hard food of the people. But all this is the making of her, because it builds up that magnificent health and strength of nerve which is so fine a weapon in the world’s fight to-day. The girl is ambitious; she knows she is beautiful; she eagerly devours all fiction bearing upon the lives of the great. Then she leaves the village. She graduates through a West End cigar shop, and finally finds herself the mistress of a few thousand pounds. Need I carry the story farther? She makes up her mind to finish at the top of the tree, and at present she is within an ace of doing so. But this is a dangerous game and an expensive one. Just at the moment when success is within her grasp, she has the most pressing need of money. She falls back upon the old expedient of trying to obtain possession of valuables and then disposing of them. The tradesmen are shy; the lady has not quite established herself upon a sufficiently high basis to gull my colleagues in Regent Street and Bond Street. But still, there is another way, just as useful and far less dangerous, because it implies no monetary liability in the future. We will say the lady in question comes to my establishment and looks at a lot of valuable diamonds. She does not ask for credit, she does not purchase anything; but just as she is going away, goods to the value of over a thousand pounds are missing. There are other people in the shop, so that it is impossible to say definitely who has taken the gems. The lady smilingly submits to be searched, and the more thoroughly the operation is carried out the more pleased she seems to be. Of course, we have to make the most profuse apologies, which we do, but we are not satisfied. We shall never be satisfied, though we have our own ideas which are not likely to be altered. I have my loss, and I had made up my mind to write the debt off as a bad one when I came here on business to see you this evening.” “It was a very foolish time to come,” Eleanor said coolly. Slowly, as she spoke, and self-contained as she appeared to be, a brilliant red spot burnt on either cheek. “Surely you could have done better than force yourself upon us this evening.”
“That is as it may be,” Monkwell went on. “I have been finding out things and putting two and two together. As I sat here to-night, I was pleased to find that my little experiments had not altogether been in vain. Is it not a fact that your florists are Stephanie and Co., of Burlington Gardens?”
“Why, yes,” Eleanor exclaimed in some surprise. “But what on earth can that have to do with the question under discussion?”
“I was just coming to that,” Monkwell went on. “You see, I always prided myself upon the palms and ferns which I keep in my establishment. I have a contract with Stephanie and Co. to look after the plants and change them when necessary. They are apt to deteriorate in the atmosphere of a business establishment. Some time ago Stephanie and Co. sent me a fresh consignment of palms, amongst which was quite a new specimen of an asparagus fern. It was so graceful that I sent round to Stephanie for some more. They sent me back word to say that they had supplied me with the only one they possessed, and that the specimen in question was absolutely unique. In fact, it is precisely the same plant that you have in the centre of your supper table at the present moment.”
“The same?” Eleanor faltered. “I—I don’t understand—”
“Oh, I am coming to the point quickly enough now. I know it is the same plant; in fact, I recognised it by that broken little branch at the top. As soon as I sat down here this evening I saw through the whole thing like a flash. The lady I speak of came to my establishment; she took up the missing diamonds and thrust them amongst the earth in the palm. They would be perfectly safe there, with not the slightest chance of their presence being discovered. A day or two later, the lady goes to Stephanie and Co., and asks them to supply her with an asparagus fern like one that she has seen in Monkwell’s shop. They
