“No, no; I didn’t mean that for a moment. She told us that her step-father had dealings with some of his women patients, and one of the waiters in the Club described some women who were there that night. He described me among others; that is to say, he described the costume I was wearing. But he suspected that it was worn by a man. He must have keen eyes.”
“Then you are under suspicion!” Her anxiety was instantly diverted from herself to me again.
“Not at all,” I answered. “No one has the least suspicion who the wearer of the costume really was. The police made inquiries, and all they learned was that a similar costume had been supplied to you a year ago. They followed up the clue, and found that you were down here on the night, so that it must have been someone else in the Club. Now you see why I sent it back to you. If Sir Frank Tarleton says anything about it, all you have to do is to say that you remember having such a costume, and offer to find it and show it to him. He and the police will naturally believe that the one worn at the Club that night was a duplicate.”
Violet looked a little uncertain, as she had some excuse for being. I thought I might venture now to ask her to come back to the house to meet my formidable chief.
“Sir Frank will be there by the time that we get down,” I said. “He has gone for an hour’s stroll in the park.”
She put her hand to her head as she stood up and prepared to come with me.
“Will he ask me anything else? What were you going to tell me just now?”
“The numbers,” I reminded her. “He will ask you if you know what they meant.”
“Ah! Must I tell him that? Must he know about the letters? Will everything come out?—O Bertrand!”
Her gasp of anguish wrung my very heart-strings.