Lady Deringham shuddered.
“Wolfenden, it would bring trouble! He is dangerous. Don’t ask me. At least I have kept my word to him. It was not my fault that we were disturbed. He will not molest me now.”
“Mother, I will know his name!”
“I cannot tell it you!”
“Then I will find it out; it will not be difficult. I will put the whole matter in the hands of the police. I shall send to Scotland Yard for a detective. There are marks underneath the window. I picked up a man’s glove upon the library floor. A clever fellow will find enough to work upon. I will find this blackguard for myself, and the law shall deal with him as he deserves.”
“Wolfenden, have mercy! May I not know best? Are my wishes, my prayers, nothing to you?”
“A great deal, mother, yet I consider myself also a judge as to the wisest course to pursue. The plan which I have suggested may clear up many things. It may bring to light the real object of this man. It may solve the mystery of that impostor, Wilmot. I am tired of all this uncertainty. We will have some daylight. I shall telegraph to-morrow morning to Scotland Yard.”
“Wolfenden, I beseech you!”
“So also do I beseech you, mother, to tell me that man’s name. Great heavens!”
Wolfenden sprang suddenly from his chair with startled face. An idea, slow of coming, but absolutely convincing from its first conception, had suddenly flashed home to him. How could he have been so blind? He stood looking at his mother in fixed suspense. The light of his knowledge was in his face, and she saw it. She had been dreading this all the while.