"Ringing up Scotland Yard, or on their way there, I should think,"
Wingate replied.
She shivered for a moment.
"You are not afraid of the police, are you?" she asked.
"I don't think we need be," he replied cheerfully, "unless we have bad luck. Of course, I have had professional advice as to all the details. The thing has been thought out step by step, almost scientifically. Slate is a marvellous fellow, and I think he has gathered up every loose end. Makes one realise how easy crime would be if one went into it unflurried and with a clear conscience.—Tell me, by the by, was it by accident that you opened that cable this morning?"
"Not entirely," she confessed. "I was in the library this morning talking to Grant, my new butler."
"Satisfactory, I trust?" Wingate murmured.
"A paragon," she replied, with a little gleam in her eyes. "Well, on Henry's desk was the rough draft of a cable, torn into pieces, and on one of them, larger than the rest, I couldn't help seeing your name. It looked as though Henry had been sending a cable in which you were somehow concerned. While I was there, the reply came, so I decided to open and decode it. Directly I realised what it was about, I brought it straight to the office, hoping to catch you there."
"You are a most amazing woman," he declared.
She leaned a little towards him.
"And you are a most likable man," she murmured.