He drew out his mascot and played with it gently for a minute while Charles and I watched him in keen suspense. Suddenly he looked up and spoke to the Inspector in a brisk voice.
“We mustn’t lose time. Some unfortunate victim may be answering that advertisement already. Luckily, I have come across one of Weathered’s correspondents whose letters to him were quite innocent,—that Mrs. Baker your man reported on for me. I want you to see her at once, using my name if necessary, and get her authority to deal with these solicitors on her behalf. Ask for the letters first, and if they make some excuse for not parting with them, ask who is instructing them. If they refuse to give you their client’s name we shall know the worst.”
It seemed to me that we knew the worst already, if my chief was right. As he had said, an honest woman, finding such letters after her husband’s death, would have put them in the fire. It was more than ever imperative that I should see Violet at once. She might have read the advertisement by now, and taken it in good faith.
Directly after Captain Charles had left us I made some excuse for going out on business, and hailed the first taxi I saw. It was still early when I got to John Street, Mayfair, where the Earl of Ledbury’s modest town house stood. The door was opened by the same man whom I had made a friend of down at Tyberton, and I was careful to confirm the friendship in the surest way. He was much more smartly dressed on this occasion, and everything about the house indicated that Lord Ledbury had taken Tarleton’s advice to heart, and was preparing to give his daughter her proper position in the fashionable world.
Violet, too, was changed. Her dress was still a little lacking in those touches which only the most expensive houses can impart, but she bore herself quite differently. Her father’s new-born care for her had given her confidence, and done something to banish the look of hopelessness and resignation I had last seen on her face. I hate to confess it, but glad as I was on her account I felt a little sorry on my own. The old gulf between us I was beginning to hope had shrunk, but now a new one seemed to have opened. Who was I, what was plain Bertrand Cassilis, M.D., that he should venture to go on loving the bright star set high above him in the social firmament?
“I think I know why you have come,” was her greeting. She did not offer me her white hand. “They are offering to return those letters. I can’t tell you how thankful I shall be.”
It was what I had feared. I would have given anything to leave her in ignorance, but the risk was too great.
“Have you answered the advertisement yet?” I asked.
“Not yet. I was tempted to go there at once, but I thought I had better consult you first. Why, is there anything wrong?”
She must have seen there was by this time from my air. Yet at that very moment the knowledge that she had thought of me, that she had put her trust in me and no one else, made my courage rise; and I answered her with a boldness that surprised myself.