"Anyway, if you did see her once or twice, there were certainly no opportunities for anything to develop between you to account for your behavior, or justify to the right to which you considered yourself entitled. You must have known her before."
Layton was still silent. The inspector continued easily.
"I am wondering whether a cable across the Atlantic would bring me a description of a certain Michael Cranbourne, once well known in the United States—particularly in Chicago—son of a multi-millionaire."
James Layton stiffened in his chair. He had become white and tense.
"A large part in the career of Michael Cranbourne was played by an adventuress named Thea Colville—said, at one time, to have been the most beautiful woman in America—and known later, on the stage in New York, as Christine Manderson."
The young man rose. On his face there was a wonderful new dignity and calm—a relief, as if some heavy burden had dropped from him and left him free.
"Yes," he said quietly, "I am Michael Cranbourne. I might have admitted it at first. What do you want now?"
"The whole story," the inspector replied, motioning him back to his chair.
"I will tell you," he said.
He sat down again. A great contentment seemed to rest upon him, as on one who reaches the end of a difficult and tiring journey. There was a long pause.