porting
Club at four o'clock. That's my programme. I shall be doing what I can
the whole of the time. I shall make discreet enquiries of my dressmaker,
who knows everybody, and I sha'n't let a single acquaintance go by. You
will have to amuse yourself till four o'clock, at any rate. There's Sir
Henry Hunterleys over there, having coffee. Go and talk to him. He may
put you out of your misery. Thanks ever so much for my luncheon, and au
revoir!"

She turned away with a little nod. Her brother, after a moment's
hesitation, approached the table where Hunterleys was sitting alone.

"How do you do, Sir Henry?"

Hunterleys returned his greeting, a little blankly at first. Then he
remembered the young man and held out his hand.

"Of course! You are Richard Lane, aren't you? Sit down and have some
coffee. What are you doing here?"

"I've got a little boat in the harbour," Richard replied, as he drew up
a chair. "I've been at Algiers for a time with some friends, and I've
brought them on here. Just been lunching with my sister. Are you alone?"

Hunterleys hesitated.

"Yes, I am alone."

"Wonderful place," the young man went on. "Wonderful crowd of people
here, too. I suppose you know everybody?" he added, warming up as he
approached his subject.

"On the contrary," Hunterleys answered, "I am almost a stranger here. I
have been staying further down the coast."

"Happen to know any one of the name of Grex?" Lane asked, with elaborate
carelessness.

Hunterleys made no immediate reply. He seemed to be considering the
name.

"Grex," he repeated, knocking the ash from his cigarette. "Rather an
uncommon name, isn't it? Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I've seen an elderly man and a young lady about once or twice,"
Lane explained. "Very interesting-looking people. Some one told me that
their name was Grex."

"There is a person living under that name, I think," Hunterleys said,
"who has taken the Villa Mimosa for the season."

"Do you know him personally?" the young man asked eagerly.

"Personally? No, I can scarcely say that I do."

Richard Lane sighed. It was disappointment number one. For some reason
or other, too, Hunterleys seemed disposed to change the conversation.

"The young lady who is always with him," Richard persisted, "would that
be his daughter?"

Hunterleys turned a little in his seat and surveyed his questioner. He
had met Lane once or twice and rather liked him.

"Look here, young fellow," he said, good