“Nor had she—by a good deal.”
“She said more?”
“Much more—and to a different purpose.”
I stared at him, breathing hard.
“Are you going to lie again?” I muttered.
“That pleasantry is too often on your lips, sir,” he said, coolly. “None doubt truth so much as those who have dishonored her. The dead woman there leaves you this as a legacy.”
He thrust the thing he was holding into my hand. I recognized it in a sort of dull wonder. It was that ancient mutilated portrait of Modred that I had once discovered in Peggy’s possession.
From the stained and riddled silhouette to the evil face of the man before me I glanced and could only wait in dumb expectancy.
“She told me where to find it,” he said, “and I brought it to her.”
“I never heard you move.”