“I am sorry,” she said, slowly, “but I can tell you scarcely anything about them. I only met him once in India many years ago, and I have not the slightest idea as to who he is or where he came from. I am quite sure that I should not have recollected him last night but for his deformity.”
Densham tried very hard to hide his disappointment.
“So you met him in India,” he remarked. “Do you know what he was doing there? He was not in the service at all, I suppose.”
“I really do not know,” she answered, “but I think not. I believe that he is, or was, very wealthy. I remember hearing a few things about him—nothing of much importance. But if Mr. Harcutt is your friend,” she added, looking at him fixedly, “you can give him some excellent advice.”
“Harcutt is a very decent fellow,” Densham said, “and I know that he will be glad of it.”
“Tell him to have nothing whatever to do with Mr. Sabin.”
Densham looked at her keenly.
“Then you do know something about him,” he exclaimed.
She moved her chair back a little to where the light no longer played upon her face, and she answered him without looking up.
“Very little. It was so long ago and my memory is not what it used to be. Never mind that. The advice is good anyhow. If,” she continued, looking steadily up at Densham, “if it were not Mr. Harcutt who was interested in these people, if it were any one, Francis, for whose welfare I had a greater care, who was really my friend, I would make that advice, if I could, a thousand times stronger. I would implore him to have nothing whatever to do with this man or any of his creatures.”