"A very simple matter," I answered. "I learned at Lenox all that I came to America to find out. I wanted to return to England without creating suspicion, so I hired a substitute to continue my trip."
"And he was killed?" she exclaimed.
"Yes!" I answered. "I insured his life, and I presume he knew his risks. In any case, the life of one man was a small thing compared with—you know what."
She looked into my face, and there was wonder in her eyes.
"How you have changed, Jim," she whispered. "It is you, isn't it? I can scarcely believe it. Can the months really write their lines so deeply?"
"Months!" I answered. "I have passed into a different generation, Adèle.
It seems to me that my memory stops at a night a few months ago, at the
Hotel Français. The things which happened before that seem to have
happened to a different man."
"Could you play cricket now—or shoot partridges?"
"God knows!" I answered. "This thing has swallowed me up. The only thing that I do know is that I must go on to the end."
She sighed.
"And what is to become of me?" she asked.