“I have got to go round to Curzon Street now,” said the millionaire. “I am much obliged to you, Goby. You are the goods all right.”
A pale smile of gratification showed itself on the little man’s face.
“Thank you, Mr. Van Aldin,” he said; “I try to do my best.”
Van Aldin did not go direct to Curzon Street. He went first to the City, where he had two interviews which added to his satisfaction. From there he took the tube to Down Street. As he was walking along Curzon Street, a figure came out of No. 160, and turned up the street towards him, so that they passed each other on the pavement. For a moment, the millionaire had fancied it might be Derek Kettering himself; the height and build were not unlike. But as they came face to face, he saw that the man was a stranger to him. At least—no, not a stranger; his face awoke some call of recognition in the millionaire’s mind, and it was associated definitely with something unpleasant. He cudgelled his brains in vain, but the thing eluded him. He went on, shaking his head irritably. He hated to be baffled.
Ruth Kettering was clearly expecting him. She ran to him and kissed him when he entered.
“Well, Dad, how are things going?”
“Very well,” said Van Aldin; “but I have got a word or two to say to you, Ruth.”
Almost insensibly he felt the change in her; something shrewd and watchful replaced the impulsiveness of her greeting. She sat down in a big armchair.
“Well, Dad?” she asked. “What is it?”
“I saw your husband this morning,” said Van Aldin.