"There was another lady in the carriage with my Mademoiselle," added the beggar in bad French, his mouth full of bread and cheese.
"Another lady!" Rose echoed. "Who could it have been?"
"A dark lady, young but not a girl," the hunchback cheerfully went on. "She looked out at me, then threw herself back as if she did not want me to see who she was. Perhaps because she did not wish to spare me a penny, and was ashamed. Some people are stingy."
"Did you know the lady's face?"
"No, I never saw it before that I can remember. It was not a sweet face like Mademoiselle's. That lady would laugh while a beggar starved. I always know at the first look. I have trained myself to judge. It is my métier."
He spoke with pride, but no one was listening.
"A dark woman," Vanno repeated. "What has become of the Dauntreys? Do you know, Mrs. Winter?"
"I heard yesterday that they'd disappeared, owing every one money."
"Miss Maxwell, will you let me go now at once to Italy in your car?" Vanno asked.
"Yes," Peter said. "It's not my car, but it belongs to my best friend. He and I will both be glad, but you must take me with you."