"She is at present at the nursing home of Dr. Stuart-Smith," he said at last.
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Cyril, sinking back into his chair and negligently lighting another cigarette. "I thought you had discovered something. You mean my wife, Lady Wilmersley——"
"Pardon me for interrupting you, my lord. I don't make mistakes like that. I repeat, the Dowager Lady Wilmersley is under the care of Dr. Smith."
The man's tone was so assured that Cyril was staggered for a moment.
"It isn't true," he asserted angrily.
"Is it possible that you really do not know who the lady is that you rescued that day from the police?" exclaimed the detective, startled out of his habitual impassivity.
"I confess that I do not. But of one thing I am sure, and that is that she is not the person you suppose."
"Well, my lord, I must say that you have surprised me. Yet I ought to have guessed it. It was stupid of me, very."
"I tell you that you are on the wrong track. Lady Wilmersley has golden hair. Well, this lady's hair is black."
"She has dyed it."