“Really?” Philippa exclaimed. “Whatever has that poor man been doing now.”
“Dreymarsh,” her visitor proceeded, “having been constituted, during the last few months, a protected area, it is my duty to examine and enquire into the business of any stranger who appears here. Mr. Hamar Lessingham has been largely accepted without comment, owing to his friendship with you. I regret to state, however, that certain facts have come to my knowledge which make me wonder whether you yourself may not in some measure have been deceived.”
“This sounds very ridiculous,” Philippa interposed quietly.
“A few weeks ago,” Captain Griffith continued, “we received information that this neighbourhood would probably be visited by some person connected with the Secret Service of Germany. There is strong evidence that the person in question is Mr. Hamar Lessingham.”
“A graduate of Magdalen, my brother's intimate friend, and a frequent visitor at my father's house in Cheshire,” Philippa observed, with faint sarcasm.
“The possibility of your having made a mistake, Lady Cranston,” Captain Griffiths rejoined, “has, I must confess, only just occurred to me. The authorities at Magdalen College have been appealed to, and no one of the name of Lessingham was there during any one of your brother's terms.”
Philippa took the blow well. She simply stared at her caller in a noncomprehending manner.
“We have also information,” he continued gravely, “from Wood Norton Hall—from your mother, in fact, Lady Cranston—that no college friend of your brother, of that name, has ever visited Wood Norton.”
“Go on,” Philippa begged, a little faintly. “Did I ever live there myself? Was Richard ever at Magdalen?”
Captain Griffiths proceeded with the air of a man who has a task to finish and intends to do so, regardless of interruptions.