“Thank God,” she whispered. “That seemed—worse—than killing my poor mother. Oh Tab, it has been such a nightmare to me! Such a dreadful, dreadful weight. You can’t know how I felt about it.”
“Was it that?—” he hesitated, “something I had said that made you feel bad when we talked of Mr. Trasmere’s will?”
She looked at him steadily but did not give an answer.
“I used to hate this nightly borrowing of jewels,” she went back to her relations with Jesse Trasmere. “I had enough money to buy my own, though I have no particular leaning toward jewelry, but old Trasmere would not hear of it. Any movement towards my independence he checked ruthlessly,” she stopped suddenly and her mouth made a little “O” of surprise. “I wonder if he heard—in China?” she asked. “Yes, that is it! He must have met my father. That is how he came to know about me! I am sure Yeh Ling knows, because Mr. Trasmere had a habit of making elaborate notes—I wonder,” she said speaking to herself. Impulsively she threw out her hands and caught his. “Tab, the night you came into my dressing-room I felt instinctively that you were a factor in my life. I could never have dreamt how big a part you were going to be.”
For once in his life Tab could not think of an appropriate rejoinder.
XXVIII
There came to police headquarters a tall, ruddy-skinned man of middle age. He wore a suit which was evidently not made for him, and he seemed a little depressed by his surroundings.
“I have an appointment with Inspector Carver,” he said and passed a letter across the desk to the police clerk, who read it and nodded.
“Inspector Carver is expecting you,” he said and called a messenger.
Carver looked round as the door opened and viewed his caller with a speculative eye. Then he jumped up.