“Oh, yes, of course. It is a pity. I should like to have had that link in the chain against him.” He frowned as if genuinely concerned, and added after a pause, “Of course, you will see the desirability—the necessity, in fact—of telling everything, everything in the fullest sense, I mean, in such a case?”
“Do you think I have not?” I retorted sharply.
“Where are the papers now?” he asked, putting my implied repudiation on one side.
“I should think we had better ask M. Boreski,” I answered, attempting a light tone and forcing a smile. But it was an effort. I recognized that, and recognized too that I was afraid of him. Not for myself, he could not harm me; but terribly afraid for Helga.
“I should have thought that, too,” he answered, copying my light tone. “But it’s just there I am puzzled. You see, Boreski says he doesn’t know either.” He spoke for all the world as though we were just talking over the thing in full mutual confidence.
“It’s scarcely likely, is it, that he would tell everything?”
“No, no, of course not. But he declares, or at least the Duchess Stephanie does, and it’s the same thing, that he hasn’t them.” Then he started as if an idea had occurred to him. “By the way, you haven’t said anything about this mysterious lady, Mademoiselle Helga Boreski? Didn’t you think it worth while, or didn’t you see her?”
His eyes were on my face, and he saw the wince I gave at the sudden thrust. He had known about her all the time.
“I didn’t wish to bring her name into the affair.”
“Ah, monsieur, that was a mistake. May I ask the motive?”