A Crime on Canvas by Fred M. White — Read

HATTON had always boasted that he was not easily taken aback. But there was something in this free, frank speech which left him stammering and hesitating. He could only look into the fair face of the speaker and gasp out something which she could not understand. It was not altogether her boldness and freedom that confused him. He was wondering how he could ever have identified the speaker with Ethel Blantyre. He felt perfectly sure that this was the girl he had seen in Le Blanc's studio, for that same faint subtle perfume still clung to her. But now that he was face to face with her she did not appear to be in the least like Sir Arthur's grandchild. What more Lawrence might have said or done was cut short by the brilliant creature herself. She waited for no explanation or further question, but she flitted daintily across the landing and disappeared into a room on the other side. At the same moment Mrs. Omley came toiling up the stairs again with profuse apologies for her delay.

Where she had been or what she had to say Lawrence neither knew nor cared. He was dimly aware of the fact that the woman was chattering volubly. It came to him by and by that the whole business was settled and that he had committed himself to take the rooms for a fortnight certain from the following Monday. It was only after all this business was duly signed and sealed that he pulled himself together and began to speak of Mrs. Omley's other lodger. He was surprised to find presently that she had gone out. He was a little disappointed, too, because he had hopes of further speech with one who had so sorely puzzled him. He wondered, too, how she had managed to leave the house. But it was no business of his, and inquiry might have ended in exciting the suspicions of the volatile Mrs. Omley. At this moment a neighbouring clock struck the hour of eleven, and Lawrence suddenly remembered that he was due at Le Blanc's studio.