"No. I can't say that I do," he admitted. "I am a comparative stranger in London myself."
"Ah, but you can find it. You know all the reference books, which are so much Greek to me; you could discover it by inquiring of the police—inquiries made very discreetly, you understand, Mr. Hay?"
Malcolm wondered what he was driving at, but the old man changed the subject abruptly.
"To-night you will see a lady here. She is coming to me. Again I ask for your discretion and your silence. Wait!"
He shuffled to the window, pulled aside the blind and looked out.
"She is here," he said in a whisper. "You will stand just there."
He indicated a position which to Malcolm was ludicrously suggestive of his standing in a corner. Further explanations could neither be given nor asked for. The door opened suddenly and a girl came in, closing it behind her. She looked first at Kensky with a smile, and then at the stranger, and the smile faded from her lips. As for Malcolm, he was speechless. There was no doubt at all as to the identity. The straight nose, the glorious eyes, the full, parted lips.
Kensky shuffled across to her, bent down and kissed her hand.
