was away at the spas or at the sea.
Rolfe knew many of old Sam's spies, but had never seen this English girlbefore. That she was a lady seemed evident by her manner and speech,and that she had something of importance to tell him was plain. Shehad, no doubt, learned of his flying visit to Paris--for he meant toleave for London at four o'clock--and had come to the office in orderthat he could not escape her.
As he walked beside her, a well-set-up figure in dark grey flannel, hecast a furtive glance at the pretty, dark-complexioned face beneath theturquoise sunshade. She looked younger than she was, for her skirtsonly reached to her ankles, displaying a neat brown shoe tied with largebows. Across her brow was just a tiny wisp of stray hair, reminding himforcibly of the sweet countenance of his lost love. He recollected howhe used to tease her about that unruly little lock, and how often heused to tenderly brush it back from her eyes.
"You live in Paris?" he asked as they walked together.
"Sometimes," was her rather vague reply. "I'm always fond of it, for itis so bright and pleasant after--" and she was on the point of givinghim a clue to her place of abode, but stopped her words in time.
"After what?" he asked.
"After other places," she answered evasively.
He glanced at her again, wondering whom she might be. A girl of her agecould scarcely act as secret agent in financial matters. Her white gownperhaps gave her a more girlish appearance than she otherwise possessed,but there could be no two opinions that she was really good-looking.
She had approached him with timidity and modesty, yet in those fewminutes of their acquaintance she had already become quite friendly, andthey were already laughing together as they crossed the Rue de Rivoli.
"I knew you were in Paris, and came here specially to meet you, MrRolfe," she said at last. "I'm afraid you must think me very dreadfulto purposely compel you to apologise and speak to me."
"Not at all. Only--well, I think you know you have a rather unfairadvantage of me. You ought to give me your name," he urged.
"I have my own reasons for not doing so," she laughed. "It issufficient for you to know that I am your friend."
"And a very charming little friend, too," he laughed. "I only wish allmy friends were so dainty as yourself."
"Ah! so you are a flatterer--eh?" she said, reproving him with a smile.
"Not flattery--but the truth," he declared, filled with curiosity as towhom she might be. Why, he wondered, had she sought him? Perhaps if hedescribed her at the office they had just left, she might be knownthere.
Though out of the season, there was still life and movement in the Ruede Rivoli, as there always is between the Magasins du Louvre and the RueCastiglione. The tweeds and blouses of the Cook's tourists were inevidence as usual, and the little midinette tripped gaily through thethrong.
At last they entered the gate of the public gardens, which in theafternoons are given over to nurses in white caps and children withair-balls, and, walking some distance, still chatting, presently found aseat in full view of the Quai with its traffic and the sluggish Seinebeyond.
Then as he seated himself beside her she, with her sunshade held behindher head, threw herself back slightly and laughed saucily in his face,displaying her red lips and even, pearly teeth.
"Isn't this a rather amusing meeting?" she asked, with tantalising air."I know you are dying to know who I am. Just think. Have you neverseen me before?"
Charlie was puzzled--sorely puzzled. He tried to think, but to hisknowledge he had never previously set eyes upon the dark-haired littlewitch before in all his life.
"I--well I really don't recollect. You've asked me a riddle, and I'vegiven it up."
"But think. Have you never seen me before?"
"In London?"
"No; somewhere else--a long way from here."
He shook his head. She was a complete enigma this girl not yet out ofher teens.
"I must apologise to you, but I do not recollect," he said. "If yourefuse to tell me who you are, you can surely give me your Christianname."
"Why?"
"Well, because--"
"Because of your natural curiosity!" she declared. "Men are alwayscurious. They always want to get at hard facts. Half the romance oflife is taken away by their desire to go straight to the truth ofthings. Women are fond of a little imagination."
Was she merely carrying on a mild flirtation with him because of a sheerlove of romance? He had heard of girls of her age, overfed uponromantic novels and filled with daydreams, starting out upon adventuressimilarly perilous. He looked into her eyes, and saw that they dancedwith tantalising merriment. She was making fun of him!
"My curiosity is certainly natural," he said, a little severely, piquedby her superiority. "You have told me that you wish to speak with me inconfidence. How can I repose equal confidence in you if you refuse meyour name?"
"I do not ask you to repose confidence in me, Mr Rolfe," was her quickresponse, opening her eyes widely. "I have brought you here to tell yousomething--something which I know will greatly interest you, more so,indeed, than the question of whom and what I am."
"Then tell me your Christian name, so that I may address you by that."
For a moment she did not reply. Her gaze was fixed straight before her.The wind stirred the dusty leaves above them, causing them to sighslightly, while before them along the Quai a big cream-colouredautomobile sped swiftly, trumpeting loudly.
At last she turned to him, and with a smile upon her fresh dimpledcheeks, she said:
"My name is a rather unusual one--Lorena."
"Lorena!" he echoed. "What a very pretty name! Almost as charming asits owner!"
She moved with a gesture of mock impatience, declaring: "You are reallytoo bad, Mr Rolfe! Why do you say these things?"
"I only speak the truth. I feel flattered that you should deign to takenotice of such an unimportant person as myself."
"Unimportant!" she cried, again opening her eyes and making a quickgesture which showed foreign residence. "Is Mr Statham's secretary anunimportant man?"
"Certainly."
"But he is of importance to one person at least."
"To whom?"
For a moment she did not answer. Then, she turned her dark eyes fullupon his, and replied:
"To the woman who loves him!"
Charlie started perceptibly. What could the girl mean? Did she meanthat she herself entertained affection for him, or was she merelyhinting at what she believed might possibly be the case--that he wasbeloved.
He was more than ever dumbfounded by her attitude. There was somethingvery mysterious about her--a mystery increased by her own sweet,piquante and unconventional manner. In his whole career he had nevermet with a similar adventure. At one moment he doubted her genuineness,but at the next he reflected how, at the first moment of their meeting,she had been extremely anxious to speak with him alone. Her attitudewas of one who had some confidential information to impart--something nodoubt in the interests of the world-renowned firm of Statham Brothers.
Other secret agents of Sam Statham whom he had seen on their visits toPark Lane had been mostly men and women advanced in age, for the mostpart wearing an outward aspect of severe respectability. Some were,however, the reverse. One was a well-known dancer at the music-halls ofParis and Vienna, whose pretty face looked out from postcards in almostevery shop on the Continent.
But the question was, who could be this dainty girl who called herselfLorena?
"What do you mean by the woman who loves me?" he asked her presently,after a pause. "I don't quite follow you. Who does me the great honourof entertaining any affection for me?"
"Who? Can you really ask that?" she said. "Ask yourself?"
"I have asked myself," he laughed, rather uneasily, meeting her glanceand wavering beneath it.
"Ah! you will not admit the truth, I see," she remarked, raising herfinger in shy reproof.
"Of what?"
"T
hat you are beloved--that you are the lover of Maud Petrovitch!"
"Maud Petrovitch!" he gasped. "You know her? Tell me," he criedquickly.
"I have told you," she answered. "I have stirred your memory of a factwhich you have apparently forgotten, Mr Rolfe."
"Forgotten--forgotten Maud!" he exclaimed. "I have never for a momentforgotten her. She is lost to me--and you know it. Tell me the truth.Where is she? _Where can I see her_?"
But the girl only shook her head slowly in sadness. Over her bright,merry face had fallen a sudden gloom, a look of deep regret and darkdespair.
"Where is she?" he demanded, springing up from the
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