Prince having taken a dignified departure, Sybil beckoned forward the individual whom his card proclaimed to be “Inspector Chantrey, Criminal Investigation Department.” He advanced with a shambling walk and with deprecating gestures in keeping with his disguise; but Sybil formed the opinion that all his nervousness was not simulated. It struck her that he was listening intently as he threaded his way through the priceless Louis Seize garniture of the white drawing-room.
He stood before her at last, for all the world like a half-famished wolf in the presence of a very wide-awake and dainty lamb that had not the least intention of being devoured. He spoke hurriedly—almost perfunctorily, as though he set no great store by his questions or the answers to them; and all the time that listening attitude was noticeable.
“I called in the hope of finding his Grace at home,” he began, with a half-note of interrogation.
“Well, the butler will have told you that he is not at home,” said Sybil sharply.
“True; but servants are not always reliable, and I thought I had better see one of the
[91]
