"And directly opposite," she asked,--"that is a café, is it not,--a restaurant, as you would call it?"
Laverick nodded.
"That is so," he agreed. "One goes in there sometimes for a drink."
"And a meeting place, perhaps?" she inquired. "It would probably be a meeting place. One might leave there and walk down this passage naturally enough."
Laverick inclined his head.
"As a matter of fact," he declared, "I think that the evidence went to prove that there were no visitors in the restaurant that night. You see, all these offices round here close at six or seven o'clock, and the whole neighborhood becomes deserted."
She shrugged her shoulders impatiently.
"Your English police, they do not know how to collect evidence. In the hands of Frenchmen, this mystery would have been solved long before now. The guilty person would be in the hands of the law. As it is, I suppose that he will go free."
"Well, we must give the police a chance, at any rate," answered Laverick. "They haven't had much time so far."
"No," she admitted, "they have not had much time. I wonder--" She hesitated for a moment and did not conclude her sentence. "Come," she exclaimed, with a little shiver, "let us go back to your office! This place is not cheerful. All the time I think of that poor man. It does make me frightened."
Laverick escorted his visitor back to the electric brougham which was waiting before his door.
"A list of stocks purchased on your behalf will reach you by to-night's post," he promised her. "We shall do our best in your interests."
He held out his hand, but she seemed in no hurry to let him go.
"You are very kind, Mr. Laverick. I would like to see you again very soon. You have heard me sing in Samson and Delilah?"
"Not yet, but I am hoping to very shortly."
"To-night," she declared, "you must come to the Opera House. I leave a box for you at the door. Send me round a note that you are there, and it is possible that I may see you. It is against the rules, but for me there are no rules."
Laverick hesitating, she leaned forward and looked into his face.
"You are doing something else?" she protested. "You were, perhaps, thinking of taking out again the little girl with whom you were sitting last night?"
"I had half promised--"
"No, no!" she exclaimed, holding his hand tighter. "She is not for you--that child. She is too young. She knows nothing. Better to leave her alone. She is not for a man of the world like you. Soon she would cease to amuse you. You would be dull and she would still care. Oh, there is so much tragedy in these things, Mr. Laverick--so much tragedy for the woman! It is she always who suffers. You will take my advice. You will leave that little girl alone."