HERE were three things in life of which Mr. Thomas Hopps possessed a nervous dread: the long yellow envelop, marked “On His Majesty's Service,” suggestive of unpleasant curiosity on the part of the authorities with reference to his income, the agony column of the Times, and any communication bearing a foreign stamp. For many years these apprehensions had interfered with his enjoyment of his morning post and newspaper. He had argued with himself in vain. The thing had become an obsession with him against which reason was useless. To a certain extent he felt a sort of gloomy triumph when at last the worst occurred. There, on the top of his letters one morning, was an envelop bearing the French postmark, which he instinctively felt contained his doom. He opened it with trembling fingers. The message which he had read and ignored in the Times a month ago was there copied out for his benefit. He was confronted with the one dark secret of his past.
E WAS able to secrete the letter before delivering his bombshell. Now that the moment had arrived, he was endowed with a sort of courage. He looked across the breakfast table at his wife and it took a certain amount of courage to do that on the mornings when Mrs. Hopps was not in the best of tempers.
“I regret to say, my dear,” he announced, “that within the next few days I shall be obliged to visit our branch in Paris.”
“Obliged to do what?” Mrs. Hopps demanded, looking across at him incredulously.
“To visit our branch in Paris,” he repeated. “The matter has been discussed several times lately. It is the wish of Mr. Salteley that I should go.”
“I never heard of such a thing,” Mrs. Hopps declared. “What can you do in Paris?”
“After all, my dear,” her husband ventured, “I did establish the branch of our business there, which has been, I may say, a very great success. It needs a little reorganization. I shall take the two-twenty train to-morrow.”
“I shall go with you,” the lady announced.
Mr. Hopps frowned.
“Just as you like, my dear,” he conceded artfully. “I must warn you, however, that I may not be obliged to stay more than a few hours. In which case I should return at once. I should recommend your waiting until I can send you a wire.”
“I shall think the matter over,” Mrs. Hopps concluded. “I may decide to go with you, or I may not.”
Mr. Hopps presently took his departure for the City, where his position of partner in the great house of Salteley's, Limited, enabled him to plan for his visit to Paris without trouble. Then, oppressed by the fear of his wife's insisting upon accompanying him, he decided upon a bold step. He sent a messenger home for his clothes—his wife, he knew, was out for the day—and caught the two-twenty that afternoon. By some curious inadvertence he forgot to leave his address in Paris, and, as a matter of fact, he caught the “Luxe” direct for Monte Carlo. On the second afternoon he presented himself at the Villa Sabatin in a taxicab hired from Nice.
There was no one at home, it appeared, and, for an hour or more, Mr. Hopps amused himself by wandering about the place, enjoying the beauty of the gardens and the scenery, and reveling in the sunshine. His spirit became lighter every moment. There was nothing sinister or poverty-stricken about the place. On the contrary, everything seemed to indicate that the confederates of his unregenerate days had prospered. If that were the case they were not in need of money, and he would perhaps be able to obtain possession of a certain document, without undue financial strain.
N DUE course Madame returned in a limousine with a footman on the box and Hugh Cardinge by her side. Another car, containing two young people who were strangers to him, followed behind. It was obvious that Madame at first did not recognize him. Then she laughed softly and held out her hand.
“Why, it's Tommy!” she exclaimed. “Little Tommy Hopps! Hugh, do you recognize my visitor?”
Cardinge came over and greeted him. He, too, smiled. Fifteen years of unabated prosperity had made a great deal of difference to Mr. Thomas Hopps. He had been almost slim in the Paris days, whereas he was now distinctly rotund. His face and his person showed signs of good living. He carried himself with an undeniable air of well-being.
“You're looking well,” Cardinge said.
“The same to both of you,” Mr. Hopps replied. “Madame does not look a day older.”
“Come and have tea,” she invited. “Afterwards you must tell us of all your doings.”