"Why, that old chap who lives at
the lodge at Heronsmere, old chap with a face like a gargoyle--Brady,
what's his name?"
"Bradley," supplied Cara.
"Yes, that's it. Bradley. A cunning old rascal, if ever there was one--he'd
sell his immortal soul for the price of a drink. I told him"--watching her
keenly while he spoke--"that his master would probably like to know that a
certain young lady in whom he was interested would be found on board the
_Sphinx_ this evening if he wanted to see her."
"You told him _that_?" gasped Cara, stricken with dismay.
"Certainly I did"--triumphantly. "And I gave him a five-pound note to jog
his memory. I don't think he'll omit to hand on the information as desired.
I should say"--glancing at the clock--"that we might expect Coventry along
at any moment now."
Cara half rose from the table. Her face was very white, her eyes dilated
with horror.
"Perhaps--perhaps he won't come--won't believe it," she stammered faintly,
with a desperate hope that she might be speaking the truth.
Brett smiled unpleasantly.
"I think he'll believe it all right. I gave Bradley very clear
instructions. But, in any case," he added easily, "I'd prepared for the
possible contingency that the old fool might bungle matters.
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