21 Greatest Spy Thrillers in One Premium Edition (Mystery & Espionage Series). E. Phillips Oppenheim
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It was sheer curiosity which prompted him to pursue this adventure. He was perfectly convinced that personally he had no interest for her. In some way or other he had become connected in her mind with the murder which had taken place within a few yards of his office, and in some other equally mysterious manner that murder had become a subject of interest to her. Either that, or this was one of the whims of a spoiled and pleasure-surfeited woman.
He found an excellent box reserved for him, and a measure of courtesy from the attendants not often vouchsafed to an ordinary visitor. The opera was Samson and Delilah, and even before her wonderful voice thrilled the house, it seemed to Laverick that no person more lovely than the woman he had come to see had ever moved upon any stage. It appeared impossible that movement so graceful and passionate should remain so absolutely effortless. There seemed to be some strange power inside the woman. Surely her will guided her feet! The necessity for physical effort never once appeared. Notwithstanding the slight prejudice which he had felt against her, it was impossible to keep his admiration altogether in check. The fascination of her wonderful presence, and then her glorious voice, moved him with the rest of the audience. He clapped as the others did at the end of the first act, and he leaned forward just as eagerly to catch a glimpse of her when she reappeared and stood there with that marvelous smile upon her lips, accepting with faint, deprecating gratitude the homage of the packed house.
Just before the curtain rose upon the second act, there was a knock at his box door. One of the attendants ushered in a short man of somewhat remarkable personality. He was barely five feet in height, and an extremely fat neck and a corpulent body gave him almost the appearance of a hunchback. He had black, beady eyes, a black moustache fiercely turned up, and sallow skin. His white gloves had curious stitchings on the back not common in England, and his silk hat, exceedingly glossy, had wider brims than are usually associated with Bond Street.
Laverick half rose, but the little man spread out one hand and commenced to speak. His accent was foreign, but, if not an Englishman, he at any rate spoke the language with confidence.
“My dear sir,” he began, “I owe you many apologies. It was Mademoiselle Idiale’s wish that I should make your acquaintance. My name is Lassen. I have the fortune to be Mademoiselle’s business manager.
“I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Lassen,” said Laverick. “Will you sit down?”
Mr. Lassen thereupon hung his hat upon a peg, removed his overcoat, straightened his white tie with the aid of a looking-glass, brushed back his glossy black hair with the palms of his hands, and took the seat opposite Laverick. His first question was inevitable.
“What do you think of the opera, sir?”
“It is like Mademoiselle Idiale herself,” Laverick answered. “It is above criticism.”
“She is,” Mr. Lassen said firmly, “the loveliest woman in Europe and her voice is the most wonderful. It is a great combination, this. I myself have managed for many stars, I have brought to England most of those whose names are known during the last ten years; but there has never been another Louise Idiale,—never will be.”
“I can believe it,” Laverick admitted.
“She has wonderful qualities, too,” continued Mr. Lassen. “Your acquaintance with her, I believe, sir, is of the shortest.”
“That is so,” Laverick answered, a little coldly. He was not particularly taken with his visitor.
“Mademoiselle has spoken to me of you,” the latter proceeded. “She desired that I should pay my respects during the performance.”
“It is very kind of you,” Laverick answered. “As a matter of fact, it is exceedingly kind, also, of Mademoiselle Idiale to insist upon my coming here to-night. She did me the honor, as you may know, of paying me a visit in the city this morning.”
“So she did tell me,” Mr. Lassen declared. “Mademoiselle is a great woman of business. Most of her investments she controls herself. She has whims, however, and it never does to contradict her. She has also, curiously enough, a preference for the men of affairs.”
Laverick had reached that stage when he felt indisposed to discuss Mademoiselle any longer with a stranger, even though that stranger should be her manager. He nodded and took up his programme. As he did so, the curtain rang up upon the next act. Laverick turned deliberately towards the stage. The little man had paid his respects, as he put it. Laverick felt disinclined for further conversation with him. Yet, though his head was turned, he knew very well that his companion’s eyes were fixed upon him. He had an uncomfortable sense that he was an object of more than ordinary interest to this visitor, that he had come for some specific object which as yet he had not declared.
“You will like to go round and see Mademoiselle,” the latter remarked, some time afterwards.
Laverick shook his head.
“I shall find another opportunity, I hope, to congratulate her.”
“But, my dear sir, she expects to see you,” Mr. Lassen protested. “You are here at her invitation. It is usual, I can assure you.”
“Mademoiselle Idiale will perhaps excuse me,” Laverick said. “I have an engagement immediately after the performance is over.”
His companion muttered something which Laverick could not catch, and made some excuse to leave the box a few minutes later. When he returned, he carried a little, note which he presented to Laverick with an air of triumph.
“It is as I said!” he exclaimed. “Mademoiselle expects you.”
Laverick read the few lines which she had written.
I wish to see you after the performance. If you cannot come round or escort me yourself, will you come later to the restaurant of Luigi, where, as always, I shall sup. Do not fail.
Louise Idiale.
Laverick placed the note in his waistcoat pocket without immediate remark. Later on he turned to his companion.
“Will you tell Mademoiselle Idiale,” he said, “that I will do myself the honor of coming to her at Luigi’s restaurant. I have an engagement after the performance which I must keep.”
“You will certainly come?” Lassen asked anxiously.
“Without a doubt,” Laverick promised.
Mr. Lassen took up his hat…
“I will go and tell Mademoiselle. For some reason or other she seemed particularly desirous of seeing you this evening. She has her whims, and those who have most to do with her, like myself, find it well to keep them gratified. If I do not see you again, sir, permit me to wish you good evening.”
He disappeared with several bows of his pudgy little person, and Laverick was left with another puzzle to solve. He was not in the least conceited, and he did not for a moment misinterpret this woman’s interest in him. Her invitation, he knew very well, was one which half London would have coveted. Yet it meant nothing personal, he was sure of that. It simply meant that for some mysterious reason, the same reason which had prompted her to visit him in the city he was of interest to her.
At a few minutes before eleven Laverick left the place and drove to the stage-door of the Universal Theatre. Zoe came out among the first and paused upon the threshold, looking up and down the street eagerly. When she recognized him, her smile was heavenly.
“Oh, how nice of you!” she exclaimed, stepping at once into his taxicab. “You don’t know how different it feels to hope that there is some one waiting for you and then to find your hope come true. To-night I was not sure. You had said nothing about it, and yet I could not help believing that you would be here.”
“I was hoping,” he said, “that we might have another supper together. Unfortunately, I have an engagement.”
“An engagement?” she repeated, her face falling.
Laverick loved the truth and he seldom hesitated to tell it.
“It