“Dear me,” she said, “I had no idea that even your wide circle of acquaintances, Mr. Pritchard, included my friend, Mr. Tavernake.”

The two men rose to their feet.  Tavernake felt confused and angry.  It was as though he had been playing the traitor in listening, even for a moment, to these stories.

“Mr. Pritchard introduced himself to me only a few minutes ago,” he declared.  “He brought me in here and I have been listening to a lot of rubbish from him of which I don’t believe a single word.”

She flashed a wonderful smile upon him.

“Mr. Pritchard is so very censorious,” she murmured.  “He takes such a very low view of human nature.  After all, though, I suppose we must not blame him.  I think that as men and women we do not exist to him.  We are simply the pegs by means of which he can climb a little higher in the esteem of his employers.”

Pritchard took up his soft hat and stick.

“Mrs. Gardner,” he said, “I will confess that I have been wasting my time with this young man.  You are a trifle severe upon me.  You may find, and before long, that I am your best friend.”

She laughed delightfully.

“Dear Mr. Pritchard,” she exclaimed, “it is a strange thought, that!  If only I dared hope that some day it might come true!”

“More unlikely things, madam, are happening every hour,” the detective remarked.  “The world—­our little corner of it, at any rate—­is full of anomalies.  There might even come a time to any one of us three when liberty was more dangerous than the prison cell itself.”

He nodded carelessly to Tavernake, and with a bow to Elizabeth turned and left the room.  Elizabeth remained as though turned to stone, looking after him as he descended the stairs.

“The man is a fool!” Tavernake cried, roughly.

Elizabeth shook her head and sighed.

“He is something far more ineffective,” she said.  “He is just a little too clever.”

CHAPTER, XV

GENERAL DISCONTENT

Elizabeth did not at once rejoin her friends.  Instead, she sank on to the low settee close to where she had been standing, and drew Tavernake down to her side.  She waved her hand across at the others, who were calling for her.

“In a moment, dear people,” she said.

Then she leaned back among the cushions and laughed at her companion.

“Tell me, Mr. Tavernake,” she asked, “don’t you feel that you have stepped into a sort of modern Arabian Nights?”

“Why?”

“Oh, I know Mr. Pritchard’s weakness,” she continued.  “He loves to throw a glamour around everything he says or does.  Because he honors me by interesting himself in my concerns, he has probably told you all sorts of wonderful things about me and my friends.  A very ingenious romancer, Mr. Pritchard, you know.  Confess, now, didn’t he tell you some stories about us?”