Grey Face/Chapter 6

UT do you mean, Daddy," asked Jasmine, "that I am not to go to Switzerland with the Mersons?"

"I do," her father returned gravely.

The girl looked at him with more than a hint of rebellion in her eyes.

"Did you ask me to meet you at the Ritz for lunch," she enquired in a plaintive tone, "just to play horrid parent?"

Sir Provost smiled indulgently. He was convinced that some hidden danger threatened Jasmine. She was modern, without having achieved a burlesque of that femininity which was her heritage; nor had he sought, hitherto, to check her independence. Somewhere, in the maze of her social interests, lay the clue to a mystery which, as daily became more evident, demanded solution. Yet Sir Provost hesitated to employ those powers of mental dissection which had placed him at the head of his chosen branch of therapeutics. Since the happiness of his daughter was concerned, he might reasonably have turned the strange searchlight of hypnotism upon her brain, conscious and subconscious, and thus, perhaps, have come upon a clue. But he was oddly reluctant.

"I want you to accept your aunt's invitation," he replied, "for a very particular reason."

"But," the girl protested, looking about her desperately, as if in quest of some friend amid the lunching throng, "I believe you asked Aunt Phil to send the invitation!"

All the more reason why you should accept it, dear," continued Sir Provost. "Oh, it won't be so dull. They're in the throes of an election. You will be able to convass [sic] for the Conservative ex-member!"

"I won't," said Jasmine, mockly rebellious. "I shall take up the cause of Labour!"

"Good!" Sir Provost laughed. "As there is no Labour candidate, you will have to seek election in person! But"—he grew suddenly serious—"you will go, dear, won't you? Believe me, there is a reason."

"I hate being reasonable!" muttered the girl. "You don't mean that I am to go in the morning?"

"But I do," Sir Provost declared. "You can go down by road. I am having Talbot ready to start at ten o'clock. Is that too early for you?"

"Too early by days and days!" Jasmine assured him. "My dear Daddy, I am fully booked up right to the end of the week. Oh" She leaned forward and caressed his hand, which rested upon the table. "Make it next Monday morning, and I will really, really go down for a few days to Aunt Phil"—she paused-"if you want me to"—another pause; "although I cannot imagine why you should."

And now, her father, keenly watching her, detected a swift change of expression, and this, he knew, corresponded to some thought conjured up by her reference to the end of the week.

"I should guess," he said, smiling, "that you have an engagement with Douglas Carey on Saturday."

Jasmine pressed her lips tightly together, looking aside, and:

"I had," she admitted. "We were to have dined at the Carlton and gone to His Majesty's and from there to the Grafton. But"

"Well," Sir Provost prompted, deliberately misunderstanding, "is it because I ask you to cancel this engagement that you are so loth to go to Surrey?"

Jasmine shook her head scornfully.

"I had already cancelled it," she replied. "I never want to see Douglas Carey again."

"Really!"

Her father spoke lightly, hoping to provoke her into further confidences. "I thought you were great friends?"

"So we were," Jasmine admitted. "But when I catch a man telling deliberate lies—really, I lose all interest in him."

"And did Carey tell you deliberate lies?"

"Yes." Jasmine bit her lip, and looking aimlessly down at the table, rolled a crumb upon the cloth—"which wasn't in the least necessary, because, naturally, he is at liberty to choose his own friends."

"Ah," Sir Provost murmured. He had learned more than he had hoped to learn. "You mean about Madame Sabinov?"

Jasmine looked startled; and:

"I didn't know you knew her, Daddy," she said.

"I don't," Sir Provost replied. "But she has a professional appointment with me at three this afternoon. So that you see I am to make her acquaintance within the next hour."

"But, about Douglas," Jasmine continued, watching him closely-"you have heard about them, too, then?"

"I have heard," replied Sir Provost, speaking very deliberately, "that Carey met Madame Sabinov at a upper party recently—that he had never seen her before and has never seen her since."

"It isn't true," Jasmine declared quietly.

And as she spoke, one watching Sir Provost, who had known the man, must have realized that he deemed her words more weighty than they seemed. That searching professional look came into his eyes, and he studied her, as she sat, glance averted, looking very miserable. It was not because, unwittingly, she was revealing her interest in Douglas Carey that he regarded her in this fashion. There was another reason. He knew that, at last, he was almost within reaching distance of a link in the chain. Strange influences were at work, influences subtle but far-reaching.

Sir Provost regarded Muir Torrington as one of the young men of his profession who counted, and from Muir Torrington he had learned the story of the 'phone messages which were never received—and of the note which on delivery had proved to be a sheet of blank paper. He had learned more than this; and he was of those who count prevention better than cure.

"You may realize one day, Jasmine," he said gravely, "that you misjudge Carey."

"You don't know him!" the girl returned bitterly. "Oh, he's full of !—that was why he came to see you so early in the morning!"

"On the contrary," her father replied, "he came to see me professionally."

"But, Daddy," Jasmine exclaimed, regarding him with wide-open eyes which mirrored a sudden concern, "but—he is not ill?"

"No, no," Sir Provost assured her, "he is not ill. He is merely the victim of a powerful enemy."

"Oh! Daddy, what do you mean?"

The mood of rebellion was gone, and Jasmine spoke almost fearfully.

"I mean," her father returned, grasping her hand reassuringly, "that you must cancel all the rest of your appointments for this week and go down to Aunt Phil. I don't want to exile you, dear, and I don't think you need remain for more than a few days; but if I assure you that I have very grave reasons for asking you to go, I know you won't refuse. Will you?"

"Why, if you ask me like that, how can I? But"—her charming face grew troubled—"if I have been misjudging Douglas" She hesitated. "Really, it doesn't seem possible. He told me three deliberate falsehoods. Oh, please"—she laid her hand again caressingly on her father's arm—"if there is another explanation, won't you tell me what it is?"

Sir Provost gently patted the slender hand resting on his sleeve.

"Except that I know you have misjudged him, there is nothing that I can explain now," he replied; "and this is one of the reasons why I wish you to go down to Surrey for a while. You will be in touch by telephone, and as soon as I have anything to report you shall hear from me."

She raised her eyes wistfully.

"It can't be because of Douglas that you are sending me away," she said. "Must I be treated like a little girl? Can't you tell me the truth?"

Sir Provost shook his head slowly; then:

"I don't know the truth, myself," he answered. "I only know that there is something strange, something abnormal, actively at work just now, and I feel that you are likely to become involved in it, if you are not involved in it already. I can say no more, dear, at present, except to ask you to take particular care of yourself. Are you dining out to-night?"

"I was, but I won't!"

"Good! Then we can chat again over dinner. You have an appointment with your hairdresser in Conduit Street. Let me drop you there, then I shall just have time to keep my engagement with Madame Sabinov."