“If he is all that you say—­it would amuse me to try!”

“Good heavens, Rita——­”

“Besides,” added Mrs. Vandemeyer, “he is extremely rich.  I am not one who despises money.  The ‘sinews of war,’ you know, Boris!”

“Money—­money!  That is always the danger with you, Rita.  I believe you would sell your soul for money.  I believe——­” He paused, then in a low, sinister voice he said slowly:  “Sometimes I believe that you would sell—­us!”

Mrs. Vandemeyer smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

“The price, at any rate, would have to be enormous,” she said lightly.  “It would be beyond the power of anyone but a millionaire to pay.”

“Ah!” snarled the Russian.  “You see, I was right!”

“My dear Boris, can you not take a joke?”

“Was it a joke?”

“Of course.”

“Then all I can say is that your ideas of humour are peculiar, my dear Rita.”

Mrs. Vandemeyer smiled.

“Let us not quarrel, Boris.  Touch the bell.  We will have some drinks.”

Tuppence beat a hasty retreat.  She paused a moment to survey herself in Mrs. Vandemeyer’s long glass, and be sure that nothing was amiss with her appearance.  Then she answered the bell demurely.

The conversation that she had overheard, although interesting in that it proved beyond doubt the complicity of both Rita and Boris, threw very little light on the present preoccupations.  The name of Jane Finn had not even been mentioned.

The following morning a few brief words with Albert informed her that nothing was waiting for her at the stationer’s.  It seemed incredible that Tommy, if all was well with him, should not send any word to her.  A cold hand seemed to close round her heart....  Supposing ...  She choked her fears down bravely.  It was no good worrying.  But she leapt at a chance offered her by Mrs. Vandemeyer.

“What day do you usually go out, Prudence?”

“Friday’s my usual day, ma’am.”

Mrs. Vandemeyer lifted her eyebrows.

“And to-day is Friday!  But I suppose you hardly wish to go out to-day, as you only came yesterday.”

“I was thinking of asking you if I might, ma’am.”

Mrs. Vandemeyer looked at her a minute longer, and then smiled.

“I wish Count Stepanov could hear you.  He made a suggestion about you last night.”  Her smile broadened, catlike.  “Your request is very—­typical.  I am satisfied.  You do not understand all this—­but you can go out to-day.  It makes no difference to me, as I shall not be dining at home.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Tuppence felt a sensation of relief once she was out of the other’s presence.  Once again she admitted to herself that she was afraid, horribly afraid, of the beautiful woman with the cruel eyes.

In the midst of a final desultory polishing of her silver, Tuppence was disturbed by the ringing of the front door bell, and went to answer it.  This time the visitor was neither Whittington nor Boris, but a man of striking appearance.