She led us into the little sitting-room, where we had gone to look for Mr. Hart’s photograph on my first visit to the place. I pointed to the spot where it had been.
“You haven’t found the portrait yet?” I remarked.
She shook her head and looked distressed.
“Please don’t talk about it,” she said. “It seems as though it must have been spirited away and it makes me feel uncomfortable even to think about it.”
We seated ourselves around the table and Mr. Fothergill, producing two packs of cards from his pocket, began to deal. At the end of an hour Cecil had won nearly fifty pounds, I was as I had started, and de Cartienne and Mr. Fothergill were about equal losers.
“I’m getting sick of this!” I declared. “Leave me out of this deal, will you?”
They assented and I crossed the room to where Milly was sitting. Pretending to examine the fancy-work upon which she was engaged, I bent close over her.
“Miss Milly, I want to ask you a question, without letting the others hear,” I said softly. “Do you understand?”
She nodded. Her large blue eyes, upturned to mine, were filled with innocent wonder.
I glanced towards the table. As I had expected, de Cartienne was watching us, and I could see that he was straining every nerve to overhear our conversation.