“To-morrow.”
“I’ll come and fetch you.”
“All right,” said Elsie boldly. “What time?”
There was no answer. Williams had rung off.
Elsie knew, beyond the possibility of mistake, that her husband suspected her; but in the intense excitement that possessed her she was conscious of nothing so much as of relief that a crisis should be at hand.
She spent the night with Leslie Morrison at a tiny hotel in Essex.
Early next morning they travelled back to London, parting at Liverpool Street station.
“Let me know what happens directly you can, darling,” urged the man.
“I’ll telephone. Anyway, come round as soon as you can get away. He won’t be in before seven.”
“Good-bye, Elsie darling. I’ll never, never forget....”