"
Tavernake made no immediate reply. Mr. Dowling was shortsighted,
and in any case it would never have occurred to him to associate
nervousness, or any form of emotion, with his responsible
manager. The beautiful lady leaned back in her chair. Her lips
were parted in a slight but very curious smile, her fingers
supported her cheek, her eyelids were contracted as she looked
into his face. Tavernake felt that their recognition was mutual.
Once more he was back again in the tragic atmosphere of that
chemist's shop, with Beatrice, half fainting, in his arms, the
beautiful lady turned to stone. It was an odd tableau, that, so
vividly imprinted upon his memory that it was there before him at
this very moment. There was mystery in this woman's eyes,
mystery and something else.
"I don't seem to have come across anything down here which--er
-- particularly attracts Mrs.--Mrs. Wenham Gardner," Mr. Dowling
went on, taking up a little sheaf of papers from the desk. "I
thought, perhaps, that the Bryanston Square house might have
suited, but it seems that it is too small, far too small. Mrs.
Gardner is used to entertaining, and has explained to me that she
has a great many friends always coming and going from the other
side of the water. She requires, apparently, twelve bedrooms,
besides servants' quarters."
"Your list is scarcely up to date, sir," Tavernake reminded him.
"If the rent is of no particular object, there is Grantham
House.
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