“It is now,” he said, “a quarter to eleven.  The spot you speak of is only two hundred yards away, but I can assure you that Mr. Weatherley has not yet arrived.”

Mrs. Weatherley began to laugh softly.  Even down the wires, that laugh seemed to bring with it some flavor of her own wonderful personality.

“Will there be a paragraph in the evening papers?” she asked, mockingly.  “I think I can see it now upon all the placards:  ‘Mysterious disappearance of a city merchant.’  Poor Samuel!”

Arnold found it quite impossible to answer her lightly.  The fingers, indeed, which held the receiver to his ear, were shaking a little.

“Mrs. Weatherley,” he said, “can I see you to-day—­as soon as possible?”

“Why, of course you can, you silly boy,” she laughed back.  “I am here all alone and I weary myself.  Come by the next train or take a taxicab.  You can leave word for Mr, Weatherley, when he arrives, that you have come by my special wish.  He will not mind then.”

“There is no sign of Mr. Weatherley at present,” Arnold replied, “and I could not leave here until I had seen him.  I thought that perhaps you might be coming up to town for something.”

He could almost hear her yawn.

“Really,” she declared, after a slight pause, “it is not a bad idea.  The sun will not shine to-day; there is a gray mist everywhere and it depresses me.  You will lunch with me if I come up?”

“If you please.”

“I do please,” she declared.  “I think we will go to our own little place—­the Cafe Andre, and I will be there at half-past twelve.  You will be waiting for me?”

“Without a doubt,” Arnold promised.

She began to laugh again.

“Without a doubt!” she mocked him.  “You are a very stolid young man, Arnold.”

“To tell you the truth,” he admitted, “I am a little bothered just now.  We want Mr. Weatherley badly, and I don’t understand his having been within a few hundred yards of the office nearly two hours ago and not having turned up here.”

“He will arrive,” she replied confidently.  “Have no fear of that.  There are others to whom accidents and adventures might happen, but not, I think, to Mr. Samuel Weatherley.  I am sorry that you are bothered, though, Mr. Chetwode.  I think that to console you I shall wear one of my two new muslin gowns which have just arrived from Paris.”

“What is she talking about all this time?” Mr. Jarvis, who was itching with curiosity, broke in.

“I am called away now,” Arnold declared down the telephone.  “I shall be quite punctual.  Good-bye!”

He heard her laugh again as he hung up the receiver.

“Well, well,” Mr. Jarvis demanded, “what is it all about?  Have you heard anything?”

“Nothing of any importance, I am afraid,” Arnold admitted.  “Mrs. Weatherley laughs at the idea of anything having happened to her husband.”