Yes, I thought, whatever it was that stood between him and an open engagement to Mademoiselle Charrier must be at an end, and Miss Trant, alias “Nancy,” is no longer needed for the rôle of the red herring on the trail. But his next remark almost startled me out of my chair.
“Ah! You mean you quite realize that in breaking this contract, I’m considering your feelings. It is for your sake.”
“Mine?”
“Naturally!” he said sharply. “When I saw that the arrangement had become so irksome to you—when I saw why——”
I turned to stare up at his temper-set face, repeating “When?”
“Need you ask when? Last night,” he said, still more sharply, “at Holyhead Station.”
Ah! Then he had thought—what I’d wondered about. It was my turn to look set with anger; I know I flushed. Let him go on.
“Yesterday, first thing in the morning, you get that wire, handed in at Euston. A message that’s obviously—well, a fake. Didn’t you arrange to receive it?”
“Yes,” I admitted shortly. “I did.”