"I must wait here, for Sir William," said Napier, lamely.
Miss Greta stood looking at him an instant, then she took the telegram out of the envelope and glanced at it. After a moment's reflection she folded it up, replaced it in the envelope, folded the envelope small, and thrust it in her belt.
"You'd better tell me," she said in an undertone, "what has been going on." As Napier hesitated, her growing uneasiness got the better of her. "I'll ask Lady McIntyre." She went quickly toward the staircase.
"No, no, come back." He waited till she turned. "There's been some one—some one was sent down from London to—look into things."
Wide and innocent, the china-blue eyes were on him. "To look into what things?"
"Yours."
"Mine? What on earth for?" She smiled, divided, it would seem, between diversion and stark bewilderment.
For a second, Napier forgot the man in the next room. "I'm afraid it's all up, Miss Greta." He had never called her "Miss Greta" before, never spoken so gently.
She came over to the table. "And why," she asked in a level voice, "do you think that, Mr. Gavan?" She had never used his Christian name before.
"They've found—what they were looking for."