'A table, monsieur?' a soft voice murmured at his elbow.
Lavendale shook off his abstraction and glanced reluctantly away.
'I am dining with Mr. Hurn, Jules,' he replied. 'He said eight o'clock, but I can't see anything of him.'
Jules pointed to a table close at hand, evidently reserved for two people. There were _hors d'oeuvres_ waiting and a bottle of wine upon the ice.
'Mr. Hurn ordered dinner for eight o'clock punctually, sir,' he announced. 'I have been expecting him in for some time.'
The girl, as though attracted by their voices, had raised her eyes. She looked towards the unoccupied table by the side of which Jules was standing. The three of them for a moment seemed to have concentrated their regard upon the same spot, and Lavendale was conscious of a queer little emotion, an unanalyzable foreboding.
'The gentleman ordered a very excellent dinner,' Jules observed. 'I have already sent back the cocktails twice.'
Lavendale glanced at the clock. Almost at the same time his eyes met the girl's. There was a quiver of recognition in her face. He took instant advantage of it and moved towards her.
'You are quite recovered, I trust, Miss de Freyne?'
She raised her eyes to his. Again he felt that sense of baffling impenetrability. It was impossible even to know whether she appreciated or resented his question.
'I am quite recovered, thank you,' she said. 'You have seen nothing more of our queer little friend?'
'He invited me to dine with him,' Lavendale explained, 'at eight o'clock punctually. I have been waiting outside for nearly half an hour.'
She glanced at the clock and Lavendale, with a little bow, passed on.
'Perhaps he meant me to go up to his room,' he remarked, addressing Jules. 'Do you know his number?'
'Eighty-nine in the Court, sir,' the man replied. 'Shall I send up?'
Jules bowed and, although Lavendale did not glance around, he felt that the girl's eyes as well as the man's followed him to the door. He rang for the lift and ascended to the fourth floor, made his way down the corridor and paused before number eighty-nine. He knocked at the door--there was no reply. Then he tried the handle, which yielded at once to his touch. Inside all was darkness. He turned on the electric light and pushed open the door of the sitting-room just in front.