"inexplicable"? And if I had of known, do you think I was in shape to tell anybody how to spell anything? I simply sat and stared at him and tried to catch up with my breath.'
'But why shouldn't he be going across? Lots of other people are. I can't see that his being on board is so exceptionally significant. And try,' said Mabel Spence, in passing, 'spelling those two when you're at leisure.'
'You can't, can't you?'
·I can't, no.'
"Well, try this one on your cottage piano,' said Mr Llewellyn urgently. 'Ambrose Tennyson came along and seemed to know the fellow, so I asked him what his racket was, and Tennyson said he was a detective.'
'A detective?'
'A detective. D - e - ... Detective,' said Mr Llewellyn, This did impress Mabel. She bit her lip thoughtfully. 'Is that so?' 'I'm telling you.'
'You're sure it was the same man?'
'Of course I'm sure it was the same man.'
'Odd.'
'What's odd about it? I told you that morning at Cannes that he was one of these Customs spies, and if you don't believe me perhaps you'll believe the purser. The purser ought to know what he's talking about, oughtn't he? And the purser tells me that you can't throw a brick at any of those Cannes hotels without hitting one. He says they hang around, listening in on conversations, and sooner or later some dumb woman says something about smuggling something, and then they get busy. This guy's come aboard to keep an eye on me. That's what they do. The purser was telling me. Once they hit the trail, they never let go. So now what?' said Mr Llewellyn, collapsing on the bed and sitting there breathing stertorously.
Mabel Spence had never been a great admirer of her brother-in-law, but she was not without feminine pity. There were plenty of things she could have said, and would have liked to say, about Mr Llewellyn's blood pressure and his need for a rigid system of diet, but she left them unspoken. She pondered for a moment, turning a woman's practical eye on the problem. It was not long before her shrewd brain enabled her to point out the bright side.
'Don't worry,' she said.
The condition of Mr Llewellyn's nerves being what it was, she might have worded her remark more happily. The motion-picture magnate, already mauve, turned a royal purple.
'Don't worry? That's good.'
There's nothing to worry about.'
'Nothing to worry about? That's a honey. ’
"Well, there isn't. I thought at first that you were making a lot out of nothing, but if this man is a detective you're probably right about him having come on board because of what he heard us saying that day. Still, why get apoplexy? The whole thing's quite simple. He's probably like everybody else -ready to be fixed if you make the price right.'
Mr Llewellyn, who had been about to speak - taking the words 'quite simple' as his cue - gave a start. He seemed to swallow something, and a marked improvement became notice- ’ able in his complexion. It faded back to mauve again.
That's true.'
'Sure.'
‘ Yes. I guess that's about right, at that. He probably is. ’
Her words had made him feel as if, after wandering through a morass, he had suddenly touched solid ground. When it came to fixing people, he knew where he stood.
Then the Soul's Awakening look which always comes into the eyes of motion-picture magnates when the question of fixing people arises slowly died away.
'But how's it to be done? I can't just walk up to him and ask for the tariff.'
'You don't have to.' There was scorn for the slower masculine intelligence in Mabel's voice. 'Did you take a good square look at him?'
'Did I take a good square look at him!' echoed Mr Llewellyn. 'For what seemed about an hour I did nothing else but. If he'd of had pimples I could have counted each individual one.'
'Pimples are just what he hasn't got. That's the whole point He's a darned good-looking fellow.' 'I didn't admire him.'
'Well, he is. Rather like Bob Montgomery. And I'll bet he knows it. I'll bet he's been wanting to break into pictures
'But why shouldn't he be going across? Lots of other people are. I can't see that his being on board is so exceptionally significant. And try,' said Mabel Spence, in passing, 'spelling those two when you're at leisure.'
'You can't, can't you?'
·I can't, no.'
"Well, try this one on your cottage piano,' said Mr Llewellyn urgently. 'Ambrose Tennyson came along and seemed to know the fellow, so I asked him what his racket was, and Tennyson said he was a detective.'
'A detective?'
'A detective. D - e - ... Detective,' said Mr Llewellyn, This did impress Mabel. She bit her lip thoughtfully. 'Is that so?' 'I'm telling you.'
'You're sure it was the same man?'
'Of course I'm sure it was the same man.'
'Odd.'
'What's odd about it? I told you that morning at Cannes that he was one of these Customs spies, and if you don't believe me perhaps you'll believe the purser. The purser ought to know what he's talking about, oughtn't he? And the purser tells me that you can't throw a brick at any of those Cannes hotels without hitting one. He says they hang around, listening in on conversations, and sooner or later some dumb woman says something about smuggling something, and then they get busy. This guy's come aboard to keep an eye on me. That's what they do. The purser was telling me. Once they hit the trail, they never let go. So now what?' said Mr Llewellyn, collapsing on the bed and sitting there breathing stertorously.
Mabel Spence had never been a great admirer of her brother-in-law, but she was not without feminine pity. There were plenty of things she could have said, and would have liked to say, about Mr Llewellyn's blood pressure and his need for a rigid system of diet, but she left them unspoken. She pondered for a moment, turning a woman's practical eye on the problem. It was not long before her shrewd brain enabled her to point out the bright side.
'Don't worry,' she said.
The condition of Mr Llewellyn's nerves being what it was, she might have worded her remark more happily. The motion-picture magnate, already mauve, turned a royal purple.
'Don't worry? That's good.'
There's nothing to worry about.'
'Nothing to worry about? That's a honey. ’
"Well, there isn't. I thought at first that you were making a lot out of nothing, but if this man is a detective you're probably right about him having come on board because of what he heard us saying that day. Still, why get apoplexy? The whole thing's quite simple. He's probably like everybody else -ready to be fixed if you make the price right.'
Mr Llewellyn, who had been about to speak - taking the words 'quite simple' as his cue - gave a start. He seemed to swallow something, and a marked improvement became notice- ’ able in his complexion. It faded back to mauve again.
That's true.'
'Sure.'
‘ Yes. I guess that's about right, at that. He probably is. ’
Her words had made him feel as if, after wandering through a morass, he had suddenly touched solid ground. When it came to fixing people, he knew where he stood.
Then the Soul's Awakening look which always comes into the eyes of motion-picture magnates when the question of fixing people arises slowly died away.
'But how's it to be done? I can't just walk up to him and ask for the tariff.'
'You don't have to.' There was scorn for the slower masculine intelligence in Mabel's voice. 'Did you take a good square look at him?'
'Did I take a good square look at him!' echoed Mr Llewellyn. 'For what seemed about an hour I did nothing else but. If he'd of had pimples I could have counted each individual one.'
'Pimples are just what he hasn't got. That's the whole point He's a darned good-looking fellow.' 'I didn't admire him.'
'Well, he is. Rather like Bob Montgomery. And I'll bet he knows it. I'll bet he's been wanting to break into pictures