(1929) The Three Just Men Read Online Free PDF

with the aid of a small pocket-mirror he took from his inside pocket, took up his clouded cane and strolled from the room.
    “Ingenious creature,” murmured Dr. Oberzohn again, and went in to offer the startled Mirabelle an invitation to lunch.
    CHAPTER FOUR - THE SNAKE STRIKES
    THE great restaurant, with its atmosphere of luxury and wealth, had been a little overpowering. The crowded tables, the soft lights, the very capability and nonchalance of the waiters, were impressive. When her new employer had told her that it was his practice to take the laboratory secretary to lunch, “for I have not other time to speak of business things,” she accepted uncomfortably. She knew little of office routine, but she felt that it was not customary for principals to drive their secretaries from the City Road to the Ritz-Carlton to lunch expensively at that resort of fashion and the epicure. It added nothing to her self-possession that her companion was an object of interest to all who saw him. The gay luncheon parties forgot their dishes and twisted round to stare at the extraordinary-looking man with the high forehead.
    At a little table alone she saw a man whose face was tantalizingly familiar. A keen, thin face with eager, amused eyes. Where had she seen him before? Then she remembered: the chauffeur had such a face—the man who had followed her into Oberzohn’s when she arrived that morning. It was absurd, of course; this man was one of the leisured class, to whom lunching at the Ritz-Carlton was a normal event. And yet the likeness was extraordinary.
    She was glad when the meal was over. Dr. Oberzohn did not talk of “business things.” He did not talk at all, but spent his time shovelling incredible quantities of food through his wide slit of a mouth. He ate intently, noisily—Mirabelle was: glad the band was playing, and she went red with suppressed laughter at the whimsical thought; and after that she felt less embarrassed.
    No word was spoken as the big car sped citywards. The doctor had his thoughts and ignored her presence. The only reference he made to the lunch was as they were leaving the hotel, when he had condescended to grunt a bitter complaint about the quality of English-made coffee. He allowed her to go back to her weighing and measuring without displaying the slightest interest in her progress.
    And then came the crowning surprise of the afternoon—it followed the arrival of a puzzling telegram from her aunt. She was weighing an evil-smelling mass of powder when the door opened and there floated into the room a delicate-looking girl, beautifully dressed. A small face framed in a mass of little golden-brown curls smiled a greeting. “You’re Mirabelle Leicester, aren’t you? I’m Joan Newton—your aunt wired me to call on you.”
    “Do you know my aunt?” asked Mirabelle in astonishment. She had never heard Alma speak of the Newtons, but then, Aunt Alma had queer reticences. Mirabelle had expected a middle-aged dowd—it was amazing that her unprepossessing relative could claim acquaintance with this society butterfly.
    “Oh yes—we know Alma very well,” replied the visitor. “Of course, I haven’t seen her since I was quite a little girl—she’s a dear.”
    She looked round the laboratory with curious interest.
    “What a nasty-smelling place!” she said, her nose upturned. “And how do you like old—er—Mr. Oberzohn?”
    “Do you know him?” asked Mirabelle, astounded at the possibility of this coincidence.
    “My brother knows him—we live together, my brother and I, and he knows everybody. A man about town has to, hasn’t he, dear?”
    “Man about town” was an expression that grated a little; Mirabelle was not of the “dearing” kind. The combination of errors in taste made her scrutinize the caller more closely. Joan Newton was dressed beautifully but not well. There was something…Had Mirabelle a larger knowledge of life, she might have thought that the girl had been dressed