The aerodrome! She put her hand to her mouth to suppress an exclamation.
Pinto was talking, but his voice was a mumble.

"Very good," said the strange voice. "I can carry three or four
passengers if you like. There's plenty of room--of course, if you're by
yourself, so much the better. I shall expect you at three o'clock. The
weather's beautiful."

The door opened and she crouched against the wall so that the opening
door hid her, and heard Pinto call the man back by name.

"Cartwright!" she repeated. "Cartwright. A mile out of Bromley on the
main road. Three lamps in a red triangle!"

She was going to slip up the stairs, but the door had closed on
Cartwright, and making a swift decision she passed the box and came
again into the vestibule of the theatre. Presently she saw the man
appear. She guessed it was he by the smile on his face, and when he said
"Good night" to the attendant at the barrier she recognised his voice.
She followed him but let him get outside the theatre before she spoke to
him. Then suddenly she laid her hand on his arm: "Mr. Cartwright!"

He looked round into her smiling face in surprise, taking off his hat.

"That is my name," he said with a smile. "I don't remember----"

"Oh, I'm a friend of Mr. Silva," she said. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Oh, indeed?" said he.

He was a little puzzled because he thought that the projected flight was
a dead secret; and she guessed his thoughts.

"You won't tell Mr. Silva I told you? He begged me not to repeat it to
anybody, even to you. But he's leaving to-morrow morning, isn't he?"

He nodded.

"I know an awful lot," she said, and then: "Won't you come and have
supper with me? I'm starving!"

Cartwright hesitated. He had not expected so charming a diversion, and
really there was no reason why he should not accept the invitation. He
was not due at Bromley until early in the morning, and the girl was
young and pretty and a friend of his employer. It was she who hailed the
taxi and they drove to a select little restaurant at the back of
Shaftesbury Avenue.

"You're not seeing Pinto--I mean Mr. Silva--again to-night, are you?"
she asked.

"No, I'm not seeing him until--well, until I see him," he smiled again.

"Well, I want to tell you something."

He thought she was charmingly embarrassed, and in truth she was, to
invent the story she had to tell.

"You know why Mr. Silva is leaving England in such a hurry?"

He nodded. She wished sh