“Say exactly what you have to say,” she told him. “I will not interrupt.”
“It sounds foolish,” Tavernake declared, “because I know so little, but it seems that your sister is being annoyed by a man named Pritchard, an American detective. She tells me that he suspects her of being concerned in some way with the disappearance of her husband. One of his reasons is that you left her abruptly and went into hiding, that you will not see or speak to her. She wishes you to be reconciled.”
“Is that all?” Beatrice asked.
“It is all,” he replied, “so long as you understand its significance. If you go to see your sister, or let her come to see you, this man Pritchard will have one of his causes for suspicion removed.”
“So you came as Elizabeth's ambassador,” Beatrice said, half as though to herself. “Well, here is my answer. I will not go to Elizabeth. If she finds out my whereabouts and comes here, then I shall go away again and hide. I shall never willingly exchange another word with her as long as I live.”
Tavernake looked at her doubtfully.
“But she is your sister!” he explained.
“She is my sister,” Beatrice repeated, “and yet what I have said to you I mean.”
There was a short silence. Tavernake felt unaccountably ill at ease. Something had sprung up between them which he did not understand. He was swift to recognize, however, the note of absolute finality in her tone.
“I have given my message,” he declared. “I shall tell her what you say. Perhaps I had better go now.”