Grant met Cornelius Blunn on Fifth Avenue one morning a week or so later,—Cornelius Blunn resplendent in a light grey suit, with a waistcoat cut very low, a carefully arranged white tie, white spats, and a white Homburg hat. He had the air of a man pleased with his appearance.
“Well, my young friend,” he exclaimed, stopping Grant. “How goes it?”
“I think you are winning,” was the frank reply.
“That’s a sure thing,” Blunn declared. “I mean, how do you amuse yourself?”
“Indifferently,” Grant confessed. “Your accursed organisations are getting on my nerves.”
“To tell you the truth, you’re getting on mine a little,” Blunn confided. “You know, I’m not thin-skinned, but you’ve been getting a trifle savage lately. I should very much dislike anything to happen to you, but it has been suggested to me once or twice that New York would be a healthier place without you.”
“The old threat,” Grant rejoined lightly. “By the bye, why shouldn’t two play at that game? I look upon you as one of the greatest enemies to the world’s peace at present existing. Why shouldn’t I kill you?”
“Too risky, my young friend. You’re not in touch with the criminal organisation of this city, and to attempt anything of the sort yourself would be madness.”
“I’m not so sure about the madness,” Grant replied. “I think that I could prove justifiable homicide.”
Blunn smiled.
“That’s just your trouble,” he expostulated. “You can’t prove anything. You’ve got some very sound ideas in your head. You’ve insight all right. You can trace the natural sequence of events. But the trouble is you’re short of facts.”
“Perhaps I am,” Grant acknowledged. “Perhaps I know a little more than you imagine.”
Blunn looked thoughtfully along the crowded pavement.
“I should hate very much to think that you did,” he said. “It would leave me only one alternative.”
“I wonder,” Grant meditated, “how much you understand of the science of bluff.”
“Nothing,” was the emphatic reply. “I have always treated you with the utmost candour. I tell you everything that may be for your good. Now I’ll tell you another thing which you probably do not know because for some reason or other it has been kept rather secret. I only knew myself a few hours ago. The next meeting of the nations subscribing to the Limitation of Armaments has been fixed for about five weeks ahead. That will be before a final decision can be arrived at with reference to the matter in which we are interested.”
“In Washington?” Grant demanded.
“In Washington.”
“Lord Yeovil will be present?”
“Naturally. You will have an opportunity of telling him of the progress you have made. Our friends over here will arrange to finish the meetings of the Limitation of Armaments and bid their guests farewell before the news of their adverse decision with reference to the Pact is known.”
“You are really a very interesting fellow to meet,” Grant admitted. “You are always full of information.”
“We must see more of one another,” Blunn murmured. “Meanwhile—”
They saluted with great politeness and passed on. Grant was obsessed with only one thought. Lord Yeovil might be out at any time within the next month and probably Susan. He had written to her once or twice and received no reply. He suddenly swung round and caught up with Blunn again.
“May I ask you a question?” he begged.
“Why, my dear fellow, of course,” was the immediate response.
“You have alluded to a ridiculous rumour that the Princess von Diss accompanied me on my yacht when I left Monaco. Was that rumour—prevalent?”
“From one end of the Riviera to the other. There was scarcely any one who did not believe it.”
“Thank you,” Grant muttered.
He strode off, furious with the malicious turn of fate, which Blunn’s news had brought into the forefront of his mind. Of what benefit to him was Susan’s coming? What joy would he find in seeing her? Probably by this time she had cast him out altogether from her thoughts as an adventurer, one of those most hopeless of all people in the world to deal with,—a man with the spirit of a boulevardier, a poseur in love as in life. He walked rapidly away and back to his hotel. There was a letter to be written that night,—a letter which it would cost him a great deal to write, a letter which from any point of view must mean an accusation against himself. He ascended to his rooms full of his purpose. As he entered the salon, however, he stopped short. The person who had been in his thoughts for days was seated there, smoking a cigarette and, apparently, waiting for his return. A pile of magazines was strewn before her, the pages of which she was turning over a little listlessly. At Grant’s entrance she pushed them all away from her with an air of relief. She looked across at him sombrely, yet gladly. There was not a flicker of emotion, not an effort at coquetry. She was just now as she was when they had fought their little duel once before, silent, imperturbable, a trifle contemptuous.
“Mademoiselle Cleo!” he exclaimed.
“Monsieur,” she replied. “You have been a long time coming.”
“Not so long. Mademoiselle,” he replied promptly, “as you have been in keeping your word.”
She rose to her feet. More than ever there seemed to be feline suggestions about the way she looked and stretched herself.
“Be so kind,” she begged, “as to order me some tea and some more cigarettes. I think—I am almost sure—that I have made up my mind to tell you the things you desire to know.”
Grant rang the bell and gave the waiter an order. Then he pulled up an easy-chair for her and seated himself opposite.
“Did you come with Itash or did you follow him?” he asked simply.
“I followed him,” she acknowledged. “What I was told I could not believe. Last night I saw with my own eyes. He has brought Yvonne here, brought her to New York. He, who had promised me a hundred times—but that makes no matter.”
“Did you come alone?”
“I came alone. It was an evil day for Itash when I came.”
“Tell me this,” he said. “You profess to know Itash’s secrets, yet Itash is a very clever young man. Did he confide in you, or did you steal papers?”
“Neither,” she answered.
“Then will you tell me,” he begged, “exactly how it is that you are in a position to dispose of his secrets?”
She smiled.
“That is my affair,” she declared. “Some day—very soon—you shall know.”