Forgot it until a moment
ago."
She took Hargrave along out to the carriage and he gave her the
envelope. She tore off the corner, emptied the sapphires into
her hand, glanced at them, and dropped them loose into the pocket
of her coat.
"Was the money all right?" she said.
"Precisely all right," replied the American. "The Credit
Lyonnais, with amazing stupidity, sent you precisely what you
asked for in your telegram." And he showed her the twenty-dollar
gold piece.
"Well, well, the stupid darlings!" Then she laughed in her big,
energetic manner. "I'm not always a fool. Come in the morning
at nine. Good-night, Mr. Hargrave."
And the carriage rolled across Piccadilly into Bond Street in the
direction of Grosvenor Square and Lady Holbert's.
The fog was settling down over London. Moving objects were
beginning to take on the loom of gigantic figures. It was
getting difficult to see.
It must have taken Hargrave half an hour to reach the club. The
first man he saw when he went in was Sir Henry, his hands in the
pockets of his tweed coat and his figure blocking the passage.
"Hello, Hargrave!" he cried.
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