"Only by knowing the habits and intentions of our friends can we hope to be successful," was his reply, as he flung himself back among the silken cushions of the couch and lazily lit a cigarette.
"So Ena will have to go to Scotland again?"
"Yes. She ought to pass the doctors in a week, for this young fellow is pushing it through because of the handsome fee she will give him, and then, in the following week, she must put on her best frocks and best behaviour and take a 'sleeper' on the nine twenty-five from Euston to Glasgow."
"What an adventure!" remarked the handsome woman before him.
"Of course. But we are out for big money this time, remember."
"You have examined the whole affair, I suppose, and considered it from every standpoint--eh?"
"Of course I have. As far as I can discover, there is no flaw in our armour. This young solicitor is newly married, and is much gratified that the wealthy Mrs. Morrison should take such notice of his young wife. But you know Ena well enough to be sure that she plays the game all right. She's the rich widow to the very letter, and talks about her 'dear husband' in a manner that is really pathetic. She declares that they were such a devoted couple."
"Yes. Ena can play the game better than any woman in England," agreed his wife. "Have some tea?"
"No; it's too hot," he replied. "Get me some lemonade."
And she rose, and presently brought him a glass of lemonade. She preferred to wait upon him, for she was always suspicious of the maids trying to listen to their conversation, which, however, was discreet and well guarded.
That night at about half-past nine, husband and wife having dined together _tête-à-tête_--being waited on by the smart young Italian footman--Ena Pollen was ushered into the drawing-room.
"Oh! Welcome back, dear!" cried Mrs. Braybourne, jumping up and embracing her friend, making pretence, of course, before the servant. "Sit down. I had no idea you were in London! I thought you were somewhere in the wilds of Wales."
Then, when the door had closed, her attitude altered to one of deep seriousness.
"Well," she said, "according to Bernie, everything goes well, doesn't it?"
"Excellently," replied the other. "You see in me Mrs. Augusta Morrison, widow, of Carsphairn, New Galloway, who is in London on a visit to her friend, Ena Pollen, and who is about to be passed as a first-class life!" And she laughed, the other two smiling grimly.