Basil wrote down the address: "Villa Bidaud, Fernex, near Geneva, Switzerland." His hand trembled as he wrote. At last he was fairly on the track of the traitor. His heart beat tumultuously, and for a moment he was overcome with dizziness; but he immediately recovered himself, and continued the conversation. "Do you write to your daughter to this address?"
"Yes, sir."
"Villa Bidaud. That sounds as if it were a long-established residence."
"They live there on and off, sir, for a few weeks or a few months at a time. I think when they go travelling the house is shut up."
"Your daughter has doubtless given you a description of the house. Is it small or large?"
"Large, I should say, and very old. There must be a good many rooms in it, and it stands in the middle of a very large garden."
"Mrs. Crawford, look at me."
Somewhat surprised at the request, Mrs. Crawford looked at Basil, and saw a face quivering with earnestness, and eyes in which truth and honour shone.
"Yes, sir," she said, and waited. "I want you to be certain that I am a man who is to be trusted."
"I am certain of it, sir."