He was drawing
something from his waistcoat pocket.
"I wouldn't do a thing," he declared, "to get Mr. Parker into any trouble
--for a nicer, freer-handed gentleman never came inside the hotel; but I
don't know as there's much harm in showing you this, being as you're a
friend. I picked it up in the sitting room after they'd gone."
He held out a cablegram. Before I realized what I was doing, I had read
it. It was handed in at New York:
"Look out! H----sailed last Saturday!"
"Pretty badly scared of H----he was!" the hall porter remarked. "Ten
minutes after that cablegram came they were hard at it, packing."
I gave the man a tip and drove back to my rooms, where I spent a restless
morning, then lunched at my club and returned to the Milan afterward, only
in the hope that I might find there a note or a message. There was
nothing, however. Just as I was starting to go out the telephone bell
rang. I took up the receiver. It was Eve's voice.
"Is that Mr. Walmsley?"
"It is," I admitted. "How are you, Eve?"
"Quite well, thank you."
"Still in London?"
"Certainly. Would you like to come and have tea with me?"
"Rather!" I replied enthusiastically. "Where are you?"
"Hiding!"
"That's all right," I replied.
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