CHAPTER XVI.

MR. GROGAN MEETS A LADY

There was a fashionable wedding on the Monday at St. George’s, Hanover Square. A queue of motor-cars and broughams stretched in all directions and lined both sides of the streets and partly filled Hanover Square.

Amongst those present, as they say, was Mr. Frederick Grogan. Flash Fred had not been invited, for two reasons. In the first place, the friends of bride and bridegroom did not know him, and in the second place he would not have been invited if they had. But a little thing like an invitation did not worry Fred. He knew that when the family of the bride and the bridegroom were meeting for the first time and were regarding one another with mutual suspicion and deprecation, and when all sorts of obscure cousins emerged from the oblivion which happily covered them and were not even recognizable to the principal actors in the great drama, that a face such as his, and a smartly tailored figure such as he possessed, would pass muster and gain for him a prominent seat. So he arrived at St. George’s in a glossy silk hat, white kid gloves, and perfectly pressed trousers, and made his way up the aisle, where he was mistaken for the bridegroom.

He had not come because he wished to break into society, but because it was a fashion for women to wear their precious jewels in the early hours of the morning at such functions as these. He had no particular piece of villainy in view. He was merely surveying the land as a good general might survey a possible battlefield.

Marriages did not interest him. He regarded them as superfluous ceremonies indulged in by the idle rich and the hopeless bourgeoisie. The ceremony, which was long, bored him to extinction, and he heartily regretted having taken so prominent a place and being prevented, in consequence, from stealing gently out, or from watching the people who were in his rear. At last the service ended, the organ pealed a triumphant note, and the bride and bridegroom, looking extremely ashamed of themselves, proceeded solemnly down the aisle, and Fred fell in, in the ranks of the near and dear, and came out on to the steps.

He was wondering whether it would be politic or advisable to go on to the reception, having discovered where that reception would be held, when somebody touched his arm, and he turned quickly.

“Hallo, Dr. Judd!” he said, relieved, “I thought it was that fellow Holt. He follows me about until he’s got on my nerves.”

Dr. Judd, a fine figure of a man in his morning dress, was eyeing him sternly.

“You told me you were going to Nice,” he said.

“I missed the train,” replied Fred glibly, “and my pal went on without me. I’m staying over for a few days and then I hope to get away.”

Dr. Judd was thoughtful.

“Walk a little way along with me,” he said. “I want to talk to you.”

They walked without speaking a word to one another into Hanover Square, and turned toward Bond Street.

“You are getting on my nerves, Mr. Grogan,” said Dr. Judd. “At least I thought I had the satisfaction of knowing that you were taking abnormal risks on the continent of Europe. Instead I find you living a fashionable life in Jermyn Street.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know I was still here?” asked Fred quickly.

“I said nothing of the sort,” replied the calm doctor, “I merely remarked that I thought you had said you were going to Nice.”

“Oh, you knew I was here, then,” said Fred.

“I had heard you were here,” said Dr. Judd. “Now, Mr. Grogan, don’t you think you and I should effect some sort of compromise?”

Fred was all ears.

“In what way?” he asked cautiously.

“Suppose,” said Dr. Judd, “I gave you a lump sum down on condition that you did not bother me again?”

Nothing better suited Fred’s plans. Supposing the sum were a reasonable one, he would be saved the bother and anxiety of a burglary. Or he might even add that relaxation to swell his profits.

“I’m agreeable,” he said, after a reasonable pause, and Dr. Judd eyed him seriously.

“You will have to keep faith with me,” he said. “I do not intend parting with £12,000----”

“Twelve thousand pounds!” said Fred quickly. “Yes, that seems a nice tidy sum.”

“I repeat,” said the doctor, “I do not intend parting with that sum unless I have a guarantee that you will not molest me again. Will you dine with me at my house in Chelsea to-morrow night at eight o’clock?”

Fred nodded.

“There will be a few people to dinner,” said the doctor, “but nobody who knows you, and I must ask as a personal favour that you will not endeavour to follow up any acquaintance you make to-morrow night.”

“Don’t you think I am too much of a gentleman to do that sort of thing?” asked Fred, virtuously indignant.

“I don’t,” said the doctor shortly, and parted from him at the corner of Bond Street.

Twelve thousand pounds! That was a most admirable arrangement, and Fred, whose funds were getting low, trod on air as he strolled down Old Bond Street toward Piccadilly.

In his exaltation, when his generous soul had swollen, and his whole mental system was experiencing the sensation of largeness, he saw a girl on the opposite side of the road. Hers was not a face to be forgotten. He had seen it once under an electric light between St. Martin’s and the Strand, and he increased his pace, crossing the road and following behind her, not, however, without an anxious glance behind him. For once Larry Holt was invisible.

“It could not have happened better,” said Fred, for he was sensible of his fine appearance.

He overtook her at the corner of Piccadilly and raised his hat with a smile, and for a moment Diana was under the impression that she knew this stranger and her hand was halfway up when he made the mistake of repeating that fashionable formula:

“Haven’t you and I met before somewhere?”

She drew her hand back.

“My dear,” said Fred, “you’re the most wonderful thing in the world, and I simply want to know you!”

This, too, was part of the formula and had been effective on many occasions.

“Then you had better call on me,” she said, and Flash Fred scarcely believed his good fortune.

She opened the little leather bag she carried and took out a card, scribbling a number.

“A million thanks!” said Fred elegantly as he took the card. “I’ll give you mine in a minute. Now what about a little dinner----” He lifted the card and read: “Miss Diana Ward--a beautiful name,” he said. “Diana! Room 47,” and then his face underwent a change. “Scotland Yard!” he said hollowly.

“Yes, I am with Mr. Larry Holt,” she said sweetly, and Fred swallowed something.

“If he ain’t here you’re here, and if you’re not here he’s here,” he said savagely. “Why can’t you leave a gentleman alone?”