"I was about to ask you to dine with me to-night," disappointedly.
"Can't; awfully sorry, Abby. It was only luck that I met you in the
Luxembourg. Be over about seven. I was very glad to see you again."
Abbott kicked a broken easel into a corner. "All right. If anything turns
up I'll let you know. You're at the Grand?"
"Yes. By-by."
"I know what's the matter with him," mused the artist, alone. "Some woman
has chucked him. Silly little fool, probably."
Courtlandt went down-stairs and out into the boulevard. Frankly, he was
beginning to feel concerned. He still held to his original opinion that
the diva had disappeared of her own free will; but if the machinery of the
police had been started, he realized that his own safety would eventually
become involved. By this time, he reasoned, there would not be a hotel in
Paris free of surveillance. Naturally, blond strangers would be in demand.
The complications that would follow his own arrest were not to be ignored.
He agreed with his conscience that he had not acted with dignity in
forcing his way into her apartment. But that night he had been at odds
with convention; his spirit had been that of the marauding old Dutchman of
the seventeenth century. He perfectly well knew that she was in the right
as far as the pistol-shot was concerned. Further, he knew that he could
quash any charge she might make in that direction by the simplest of
declarations; and to avoid this simplest of declarations she would prefer
silence above all things. They knew each other tolerably well.
It was extremely fortunate that he had not been to the hotel since
Saturday. He went directly to the war-office. The great and powerful man
there was the only hope left. They had met some years before in Algiers,
where Courtlandt had rendered him a very real service.
"I did not expect you to the minute," the great man said pleasantly. "You
will not mind waiting for a few minutes."
"Not in the least. Only, I'm in a deuce of a mess," frankly and directly.
"Innocently enough, I've stuck my head into the police net."
"Is it possible that now I can pay my debt to you?"
"Such as it is. Have you read the article in the newspapers regarding the
disappearance of Signorina da Toscana, the singer?"
"Yes."
"I am the unknown blond. To-morrow morning I want you to go with me to the
prefecture and state that I was with you all of Saturday and Sunday; that
on Monday you and your wife dined with me, that yesterday we went to the
aviation meet, and later to the Odéon."
"In brief, an alibi?" smiling now.
"Exactly. I shall need one."