o'clockwithout previously obtaining signed leave from Mr Hemmingway or myselfwill be discharged on the following day.' The firm have, therefore,dispensed with your services. As regards character, Miss Rolfe, pleaseunderstand that the firm is silent."
"But, Mr Cunnington," cried the girl, "I was absent at the expressrequest of Mr Statham. He wished to see me." The head of the firmfrowned slightly, answering:
"I have no desire to enter into the reasons of your absence. You couldeasily have asked for leave. If Mr Statham had wished to see you, hewould have sent me a note, no doubt. It was at his request I engagedyou, I recollect. Therefore, I think that the least said regarding lastnight the better."
"But Mr Statham promised me he would send you a message this morning,"the girl declared in her distress.
"Parker, has Mr Statham been on the 'phone this morning?" asked MrCunnington of the young man seated near him.
"No, sir," was the prompt reply.
"But will you not ask him?" cried the girl. "He promised me he wouldcommunicate with you."
Mr Cunnington hesitated for a moment. He reflected that the girl was a_protegee_ of the millionaire. Therefore he gave Parker orders to ringup the man whose millions controlled the concern.
Marion waited in breathless anxiousness. The secretary asked for MrStatham, and spoke to him, inquiring if he knew anything of Miss Rolfe'sabsence from the firm's dormitory on the previous night. "Mr Stathamsays, sir," said Parker at last, "that he is too busy to be troubledwith the affaire of any of Cunnington's shop-assistants."
The reply filled Mr Cunnington with suspicion. It showed him plainlythat Statham had at least no further interest in the girl, and that herdischarge would be gratifying.
"You hear the reply," he said to her. "That is enough." And hescribbled something upon a piece of paper. "Take it to the cashier, andhe will pay your wages up to date."
"Then I am discharged!" asked the girl, crimsoning--"sent out from yourestablishment without a character?"
"By reason of your own action," was the rough reply. "You know therules. Please leave. I am far too busy to argue."
"But Mr Statham wrote asking me to call and see him. I have his letterhere."
"I have no desire or inclination to enter into Mr Statham's affairs,"Cunnington replied. "You are discharged for being absent at nightwithout leave. Will you go, Miss Rolfe?" he asked angrily.
"Mr Cunnington," she said, quite quietly, "you misjudge me entirely.Mr Statham asked me to call upon him in secret, because he desired meto give him some private information. He promised at the same time tosend you word, so that my absence should not be mentioned. You are aman of honour, with daughters of your own," she went on appealingly."Because I refused to betray a friend of mine, a woman, he has refusedto stretch forth a hand to save me from the disgrace of this discharge,"and tears welled in her fine eyes as she spoke.
"It is a matter that does not concern me in the least, Miss Rolfe, MrStatham put you here, and if he wishes for your discharge I have nothingto say in the matter. Good morning."
And he turned from her and busied himself with the heap of papers on hisdesk.
She did not move. She stood as one turned to stone. Therefore hetouched the electric button beneath the arm of his chair, and a clerkappeared.
"Send in Mortimer," he said coldly, disregarding the girl's presence.Then Marion, seeing that all appeal was in vain, turned upon her heeland went out--broken and bitter--a changed woman.
Mr Cunnington turned and watched her disappearing. Suddenly, as thoughhalf uncertain whether his action might not be criticised by Statham, heexclaimed:
"Call that young lady back!"
Marion returned, her face full of anger and dignity.
"Do I really understand you that Mr Statham invited you to his house?"he asked her. "I mean that you received letters from him?"
"Yes."
The dark-bearded man, alert and businesslike, eyed her critically, andasked:
"You have those letters, I presume."
"Certainly. I have them here," was her reply, as she fumbled in thepocket of her black skirt. "I refused to call upon him, but he pressedme so much that I felt it imperative. He has been so very good to methat I feared to displease him."
And she placed several letters upon Mr Cunnington's desk.
"I see they are marked `private,'" he said, with a good deal ofcuriosity. "Have I your permission to glance at them?"
"Certainly," was the cool reply. "You refuse to hear me, therefore I amcompelled to give you proof."
The man opened them one after the other, scanned them, and placed themaside. Statham's refusal to answer the query upon the telephone was forhim all-sufficient.
"You had better leave these letters with me, Miss Rolfe," he saiddecisively, for he saw that at all hazards he must obtain thatcorrespondence and hand it back to the writer.
"But--"
"There are no buts," he exclaimed, quickly interrupting her. "Had MrStatham desired you to remain in our service he would have replied tothat effect. Come, you are wasting my time. Good morning."
And a moment later, almost before she was aware of it, Marion foundherself outside the room, with the door closed behind her.
She was no longer in the service of Cunnington's. She had beendischarged in disgrace.
What would Charlie say? What explanation could she offer to Max?
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.
THE MYSTERIOUS MADEMOISELLE.
The future, nay, the very life, of Samuel Statham depended, according tohis own admission to his secretary, upon the honour of Maud Petrovitch.
The position was, to say the least, strangely incongruous. Here was aman whose power and wealth were world-famous, a man whom kings andprinces sought to conciliate and load with honours, which he steadfastlyrefused to accept, dependent for his life upon a woman, little more thana child.
Charlie Rolfe had thought over his master's strange, enigmatical wordsmany times. Maud--his Maud whom he loved so dearly, and who had sosuddenly and mysteriously gone out of his life--was to be sacrificed.Why? What did old Sam mean when he uttered those words, each of whichhad burnt indelibly into his soul.
"You have promised to save me; you have sworn to assist me, and thesacrifice is imperative?" Statham had said. "It is her honour--or mydeath!"
Each time he entered the grim portals of the silent house in Park Lanethose fateful words recurred to him. The house of mystery seemed darkand chilly, even on those sunny days of early September, and old Leviseemed more sphinx-like and solemn. A dozen times had he been on thepoint of referring again to the matter, but each time he had refrained,for the millionaire's manner had now changed. He was less anxious, andfar more bright and hopeful. The discovery of Duncan Macgregor seemedto have wrought a great change in him, for the old Scot frequently spentthe evening there, being telegraphed for from Glasgow, ostensibly todiscuss business matters.
On the day following Marion's visit to Park Lane Charlie was in Paris,having been sent there overnight upon a pressing message to the branchhouse in the Avenue de l'Opera, for Statham Brothers were as well-knownfor their stability in France as in England.
Just before twelve o'clock, as he was issuing from the fine offices ofthe firm into the street, he stumbled against a rather short butwell-dressed girl of about twenty-four. He raised his hat, and inEnglish asked her pardon, whereupon, with a light laugh, she replied inthe same tongue.
"Oh, really no apology is needed, Mr Rolfe."
He glanced at her inquiringly.
"I--I really haven't the pleasure of your name," he said, still upon thedoorstep of the office. At all events, she was rather good-looking andwell-bred, even if her stature was a trifle diminutive. Her gown was inexcellent taste, too.
"My name really doesn't matter," she laughed. "I know you quite well.You are Mr Charles Rolfe, old Mr Statham's secretary."
Then, in an instant, the troth flashed across his mind. This girl mustbe on
e of old Sam's friends--one of his secret agents controlled andpaid from the office in Old Broad Street.
"You wish to speak to me--eh?" he asked, in a quick, businesslike way.
"Yes; I do. Let us stroll somewhere where we can talk." Then after amoment's reflection she added: "The Tuileries Gardens would be a goodplace. We might avoid eavesdroppers there."
"Certainly," he said, and, rather interested in the adventure, hestrolled along at her side. She put up her pale blue sunshade, for itwas a hot day, and at that hour the Avenue was deserted, for thework-girls were not yet out from the numerous ateliers in theneighbourhood, and half Paris