The Great Christmas Ball by Joan Smith Page A

collusion.”
    “I shall hire a hansom cab to loiter at the corner of Half Moon Street and follow her if she leaves. Naturally I shall wear a new disguise as well. I’ll get into the attic and dig out a beard and some old clothes. And spectacles. We used to have some dandy plays when Papa was alive. How shall I contact you if I am not to go to your office?”
    “I shall be coming for tea tomorrow. Can you be here at four?”
    “I shall, if Mrs. Leonard is behaving herself. If I am hot on her trail, I shall try to get a note to you.”
    “Excellent. I appreciate your help.”
    “It was me who put you on to Mrs. Leonard,” he said modestly, forgetting who had originally suggested watching her. “Daresay you might not have tumbled to her in a dog’s age.”
    “I believe Cathy is waiting for you inside. Ask her about Leo,” he said with an air of mystery that he thought would appeal to young Lyman.
    “Is that our code word for Mrs. Leonard?”
    “No, for Costain.”
    “Eh?”
    Costain winked, tipped his hat, and got into his carriage.
    Gordon was not slow in darting into the house to speak to Cathy.
     

Chapter Seven
     
    Gordon strode into the study and peered around the room to ensure they were alone. “What have you got to tell me about Leo?” he asked in sepulchral accents.
    Cathy looked up from the book she was perusing and said triumphantly, “He is not a Leo at all; he is a Libra. You know what that means!”
    Gordon hadn’t the slightest notion what she was talking about, but tried to make sense of it. After a frowning pause he said, “Are you telling me Lord Costain is not Lord Costain? Who the devil is he? Ah-ha! Lovell!”
    “Of course he is Lord Costain, Gordon, but he was born in October.”
    “October, eh? Er, what of it? I mean to say—”
    “It means he is not a Leo.”
    “What is his Christian name, then, and what difference does it make anyhow?”
    She explained the situation and Gordon soon understood her point. “So Mrs. Leonard is puffing herself off as an astrologer when it is nothing of the sort. I wonder now, is May actually a Taurus?” he asked suspiciously.
    “Yes, if the dog was born in May, as she says, it is a Taurus, and so, one must assume, is Mrs. Leonard. Not that it matters. Someone probably told her she was a Taurus. I know I am a Gemini, though I have no interest at all in astrology. One knows these things. She told that story only to make us think she was a goosecap.”
    “One thing she did not lie about was her fondness for the demmed dog. It goes everywhere with her, nipping at pedestrians and squealing its dashed head off. She has made it a fur coat and a toque—a French hat,” he added as this occurred to him.
    After more discussion of Mrs. Leonard’s slyness, Cathy asked how matters had gone with Miss Stanfield, and Gordon announced stoically that he had refused an invitation to tea the next afternoon. “Well, as good as an invitation. I was standing right beside Lord Harcourt when she invited him, and she looked at me, too. I feared she would not like it above half when I told her I was busy, but I think my refusal piqued her interest. She invited me to call one day soon. I told her I am pretty busy. I mean to say, I cannot go calling in a wig and rusty old suit. Leo wants me to wear a disguise. It is a good notion to refer to Costain as Leo, just between ourselves.”
    “He is not a Leo; he is a Libra.”
    “Dash it, you can’t call a fellow Libra. That ain’t a name. Anyone listening would suspect a trick straight off. What is my sign? I was born the end of November.”
    “Sagittarius,” Cathy told him after glancing at the book.
    “That’s out. I’ll be demmed if I’ll have anyone calling me Sagittarius.”
    They soon went upstairs. Lady Lyman was an early retirer. She did not receive an account of the rout until the next morning at breakfast. She was satisfied with the outing, and more than satisfied to learn that Lord Costain would come to