“No! From a firm who called themselves agents, and said that the letter had come into their possession, had been deposited with them, in fact, by someone who owed them some money,” Lady Mary answered. “Of course, I was frightened to death. I don’t know what made me think of Bertrand Saton as the best person to consult, but anyhow I did. He took the matter up for me, paid over some money on my account, and recovered the letter.”
“The sum of money being?”
“Five hundred pounds,” Lady Mary answered, with a sigh. “It was a great deal, but the letter—well, the letter was certainly very foolish.”
Rochester was silent for several moments.
“Do you know,” he asked at length, “what the natural inference to me seems—the inference, I mean, of what you have just told me?”
“You are not going to say anything disagreeable?” she asked, looking at him through the lace fringe of her parasol.
“Not in the least,” he answered. “I was not thinking of the personal side of the affair—so far as you and I are concerned, I have accepted your declaration. I claim no jurisdiction over your correspondence. I mean as regards Saton.”
“No! What?” she asked.
“It seems to me highly possible,” he declared, “that Saton was in league with these blackmailers, whoever they may have been. Any ordinary man whom you had consulted would have settled the matter in a very different way.”
“I was quite satisfied,” Lady Mary answered. “I thought it was really very kind of him to take the trouble.”