He touched the keyboard--pianissimo at first and then growing bolder plunged into the glorious _Liebestod_. It was not the sort of thing Mr. Jackson would have done but then Anthony Trent was a head tuner as he had explained. He watched the woman’s face to see into what mood the music would lead her. He was speedily to find out.
“Stop,” she commanded and rising to her feet came to his side. “Why do you do that?”
“I must try it,” he answered, a little sheepishly, “we always have to test an instrument.”
“But to play the _Liebestod_” she said severely. “I have heard them all play it, Bauer, Borwick, Grainger, d’Albert and Hoffman and you dare to try! It was impertinent of you. Of course if you must play just play those chords tuners always use.”
Trent admitted afterwards he had never been more angry or felt more insulted in his life. He had not for a moment supposed this butterfly woman even knew the name of what he played.
“I won’t offend again,” he said with what he hoped was a sarcastic inflection. She answered never a word. She seemed to be listening. Trent heard a sound that might have been the opening of the elevator door. Then came hurried steps along the hall and Jules d’Aucquier entered.
He was dark to the point of swarthiness, tall and graceful. His rather small head reminded Trent of a snake’s. As a man who knew men Trent determined that the newcomer was dangerous. The look that he threw across the room to the intruder was not pleasant.
“No one who matters,” she answered in the same tongue.
“But what is the pig doing here at this hour?” he asked.
“Repairing the piano,” she told him, “a poor tuner I imagine for the reason that he plays so well. I had to stop him when he began the _Liebestod_. It affects me too much. That was being played when you first looked into my eyes, dear one.”
“But that would look suspicious,” she declared.
Trent noticed that Jules did not respond to the affection which was in the woman’s tone.
“You should not telephone to me at the club,” he said as he took a seat at her side. “I am only a temporary member and do not want to embarrass my sponsor.”
“But you were so cruel to me yesterday,” she murmured.
“Cruel?” he repeated and turned his cold, snake eyes on her, eyes that could, when he willed it, glow with fire and passion. “Who is the crueler, you or I?”