"It won't do," Wrayson answered. "I want to get right away from here. I wouldn't bother you if it wasn't necessary."
"I'm sure you wouldn't," the Colonel admitted. "We'll slip away quietly when this game is over. It won't be long. Good shot, Freddy! Sixpence, you divide!"
They found themselves in the Strand about half an hour later.
"Where shall we go?" Wrayson asked. "Somewhere quiet."
"Across the way," the Colonel answered. "We shan't see any one we know there."
Wrayson nodded, and they crossed the street and entered Luigi's. It was early for diners, and they found a small table in a retired corner. Wrayson ordered the dinner, and then leaned across the table towards his guest.
"It's that Barnes matter, Colonel," he said quietly. "Heneage has taken it up and means going into it thoroughly. He saw me letting out your daughter that night."
The Colonel was in the act of helping himself to hors d'œuvre. His fork remained suspended for a moment in the air. Then he set it down with trembling fingers. The cheery light had faded from his face. He seemed suddenly older. His voice sounded unnatural.
"Heneage!" he repeated, sharply. "Stephen Heneage! What affair is it of his?"
"None," Wrayson answered. "He likes that sort of thing, that's all. He saw—your daughter with a lady—the Baroness de Sturm, and the seeing them together, after he had watched her come out of the flat that
