Externally of London, he was internally of the Levant.
His vigil lasted but a quarter of an hour. At twenty-five minutes to
eleven, Helen Cumberly came running down the steps of the hotel and
hurried toward the Strand. Like a shadow, Gianapolis, throwing away a
half-smoked cigarette, glided around the corner, paused and so timed
his return that he literally ran into the girl as she entered the main
thoroughfare.
He started back.
"Why!" he cried, "Miss Cumberly!"
Helen checked a frown, and hastily substituted a smile.
"How odd that I should meet you here, Mr. Gianapolis," she said.
"Most extraordinary! I was on my way to visit a friend in Victoria
Street upon a rather urgent matter. May I venture to hope that your path
lies in a similar direction?"
Helen Cumberly, deceived by his suave manner (for how was she to know
that the Greek had learnt her address from Crockett, the reporter?),
found herself at a loss for an excuse. Her remarkably pretty mouth was
drawn down to one corner, inducing a dimple of perplexity in her left
cheek. She had that breadth between the eyes which, whilst not an
attribute of perfect beauty, indicates an active mind, and is often
found in Scotch women; now, by the slight raising of her eyebrows, this
space was accentuated.
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