Читать книгу The Ostrekoff Jewels онлайн

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It was about eight o'clock when Wilfred Haven, happily attired in the garments of civilisation, stepped out of the lift and gazed around with interest at the little groups of men and women seated in the lounge of the hotel. There were a great many officers in uniform and a great many exceedingly good-looking women. The place was beautifully warm, and in the distance a band was playing a mazurka-like tune, with strange harmonies and an intriguing rhythm. His friend, the hotel clerk, came smilingly forward.

"What can I do for you now, Mr. Haven?" he enquired.

"You can tell the head waiter to keep a table for me in a corner of the restaurant," was the prompt reply, "and show me the way to the Bar."

"Bar Américain, is it not so, sir?" the man suggested, with a smile. "Exactly en face. I will go to the restaurant. Marcos is the name of the head waiter. He will prepare your table. You will find an American bartender and very good cocktails."

The young man hurried away. He was evidently anxious to do all that he could to efface the memory of his unfortunate reception. Haven crossed the thickly carpeted floor and entered the very commodious Bar, behind the counter of which was a white-coated and obvious compatriot. There were easy-chairs everywhere but only one occupant of the place—a young woman in an attractive black evening dress—chic from her temperately manicured nails to her beautifully coiffured hair. She looked up at his entrance and an exclamation broke from his lips. He stared at her as though she had been a ghost. Her queer little smile broke into a laugh at his consternation, her eyes flashed a welcome, she stretched out her hand.