He could not finish his sentence. She raised her eyes and he saw that they were full of tears.
"Help me," he begged. "You can if you will. Give me your confidence and I will tell you something which I think that even you do not know."
"Something concerned with these happenings?"
"Something concerned with them," he assented. "I will tell you when and by whom the body of that man was removed from your sitting-room."
She sat looking at him like a woman turned to stone. There was incredulity in her eyes, incredulity and horror.
"You cannot know that!" she faltered.
"I do know it," he asserted.
"Why have you kept this a secret from me?" she asked.
"I do not know," he answered. "Somehow or other, when I have been with you I have felt more anxious to talk of other things. Then there was another reason which made me anxious to forget the whole affair if I could. I had some knowledge of one of the men who were concerned in taking him away."
The waiter was busy now with the removal of their luncheon. To Arnold, the necessary exchange of commonplaces was an immense relief. It was several minutes before they were alone again. Then she leaned across towards him. She had lit a cigarette now, and, although she was very thoughtful, she seemed more at her ease.