Surely with such a queen of women as this, frankness and truth were the only lines to follow.
"Yes, Mrs. Altonstall," I said; "I am a lawyer, and I am at present investigating a serious case. In connection with it, there has been found a key, which I have been informed belongs to you. Will you kindly say if this is so?"
As I spoke, I handed her the key. I need not say that at the first glimpse of that serene, gracious face, all thought of her implication in our affair instantly vanished. Presumably, too, the key was not hers, there had been a mistake, somehow.
As she took the key, she looked at me with a bewildered surprise. "Why, yes, Mr. Landon," she said, "this is my key. May I ask where you obtained it?"
I hesitated, for it seemed a terrible thing to tell this queenly lady where her key had been found. And yet the situation was so inexplicable, that I must solve it if possible.
"I will tell you in a moment, Mrs. Altonstall," I said, slowly, "but first I must ask you if you know Mr. Robert Pembroke?"
"Robert Pembroke?" she repeated; "no, I never heard the name. Who is he?"
The unruffled calm and the straightforward gaze that met my own eyes, so frankly, was so convincing of her absolute veracity, that just for an instant the thought flashed through my mind that it might be merely the perfection of acting.
But the next instant I knew better, for no human being could so simulate utter ignorance of a subject, if she had guilty knowledge of it. Moreover, since she knew nothing of Robert Pembroke, I instantly concluded not to tell her of the tragedy, but to inquire further concerning the key.