“Forget it!” said T. X., wearily. “Listen! If you'll tell me the whole truth about Lady Bartholomew and the money she paid to Mr. Kara—”
“Two thousand pounds—two separate thousand and by all accounts-”
“If you will tell me the truth, I'll compound a felony and let you go free.”
It was a long time before he could prevail upon her to clear her speech of the ego which insisted upon intruding. There were gaps in her narrative which he bridged. In the main it was a believable story. Lady Bartholomew had lost money and had borrowed from Kara. She had given as security, the snuffbox presented to her husband's father, a doctor, by one of the Czars for services rendered, and was “all blue enamel and gold, and foreign words in diamonds.” On the question of the amount Lady Bartholomew had borrowed, Abigail was very vague. All that she knew was that my lady had paid back two thousand pounds and that she was still very distressed (“in a fit” was the phrase the girl used), because apparently Kara refused to restore the box.
There had evidently been terrible scenes in the Bartholomew menage, hysterics and what not, the principal breakdown having occurred when Belinda Mary came home from school in France.
“Miss Bartholomew is home then. Where is she?” asked T. X.
Here the girl was more vague than ever. She thought the young lady had gone back again, anyway Miss Belinda had been very much upset. Miss Belinda had seen Dr. Williams and advised that her mother should go away for a change.
“Miss Belinda seems to be a precocious young person,” said T. X. “Did she by any chance see Mr. Kara?”
“Oh, no,” explained the girl. “Miss Belinda was above that sort of person. Miss Belinda was a lady, if ever there was one.”
“And how old is this interesting young woman?” asked T. X. curiously.