"Certainly not," he answered. "Why do you ask?"
"Because one afternoon last week I saw him come out of Falcon's Nest. It was the afternoon he went botanizing."
Mr. Thurwell shook his head.
"The detective mentioned the date of his visit and search," he said. "It was a month ago."
She wrung her hands, and turned away in despair.
"It must have been through those dreadful people I went to," she sobbed. "Oh, I was mad—mad!"
"I scarcely think that," Mr. Thurwell said thoughtfully. "They would not have kept altogether in the background and let Scotland Yard take the lead, if it had been so. What is it, Roberts?"
The servant had entered bearing an orange-colored envelope on a salver, which he carried towards Helen.
"A telegram for Miss Thurwell, sir," he said.
She took it and tore it open. It was from the Strand, London, and the color streamed into her cheeks as she read it aloud.