Arnold did not hesitate. Mr. Weatherley was his employer but this
woman was his employer's wife. If there were secrets between them,
it was not his concern. It seemed natural enough that she should
ask. It was certainly not his place to refuse to answer her
question.

"I was to tell him that on no account was he to lunch here to-day,"
Arnold said. "He was to go instead to the grill room at Prince's in
Piccadilly, and remain there until two o'clock."

Mrs. Weatherley made no remark. Her face was emotionless. Closely
though he was watching her, Arnold could not himself have declared
at that moment whether indeed this message had any import to her or
not.

"I find my husband's behavior exceedingly mysterious," she said
thoughtfully. "I cannot imagine how he became concerned in the
matter at all."

"I believe," Arnold told her, "that some one telephoned Mr.
Weatherley this morning. He was asked for privately several times
and he seemed very much disturbed by some message he received."

"Some one telephoned him," she repeated, frowning. "Now I wonder who
that person could be."

She sat quite still for a moment or two, looking through the
glass-paneled door. Then she shrugged her shoulders.

"In any case," she declared, "I am here to lunch and I am hungry. I