"She spoke of
some danger of which you knew nothing. Before I came away, she
offered me a hundred pounds to let her know where you were."
Beatrice laughed softly.
"That is just like Elizabeth," she declared. "You must have made
her very angry. When she wants anything, she wants it very badly
indeed, and she will never believe that every person has not his
price. Money means everything to her. If she had it, she would
buy, buy, buy all the time."
"On the face of it," Tavernake remarked, soberly, "her offer
seemed rather an absurd one. If she is in earnest, if she is
really so anxious to discover your whereabouts, she will
certainly be able to do so without my help."
"I am not so sure," Beatrice replied. "London is a great hiding
place."
"A private detective," he began,--
Beatrice shook her head.
"I do not think," she said, "that Elizabeth will care to employ a
private detective. Tell me, have you to see her upon this
business again?"
"I am going to her flat at the Milan Court to-morrow morning at
eleven o'clock."
Beatrice leaned back in her chair. Presently she recommenced her
dinner. She had the air of one to whom a respite has been
granted. Tavernake, in a way, began to resent this continued
silence of hers. He had certainly hoped that she would at least
have gone so far as to explain her anxiety to keep her
whereabouts secret.
"You must remember," he went on, after a short pause, "that I am
in a somewhat peculiar position with regard to you, Beatrice.
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