“I have come direct from Oakshire to see you, Mr Carrados,” she announced, in a quick, nervous voice that was evidently the outcome of a desperate resolution to be brave and explicit. “The matter is a dreadfully important one to me and I should very much prefer to tell it to you alone.”
There was no need for Carrados to turn towards his secretary; that discriminating young gentleman was already on his way. Miss George flashed him a shy look of thanks and filled in the moment with a timid survey of the room.
“Is it something that you think I can help you with?”
“I had hoped so. I had heard in a roundabout way of your wonderful power—ought I to tell you how—does it matter?”
“Not in the least if it has nothing to do with the case,” replied Carrados.
“When this dreadful thing happened I instinctively thought of you. I felt sure that I ought to come and get you to help me at once. But I—I have very little money, Mr Carrados, only a few pounds, and I am not so childish as not to know that very clever men require large fees. Then when I got here my heart sank, for I saw at once from your house and position that what seemed little even to me would be ridiculous to you—that if you did help me it would be purely out of kindness of heart and generosity.”
“Suppose you tell me what the circumstances are,” suggested Carrados cautiously. Then, to afford an opening, he added: “You have recently gone into mourning, I see.”
“See!” exclaimed the girl almost sharply. “Then you are not blind?”
“Oh yes,” he replied; “only I use the familiar expression, partly from custom, partly because it sounds unnecessarily pedantic to say, ‘I deduce from certain observations.’”
“I beg your pardon. I suppose I was startled not so much by the expression as by your knowledge. I ought to have been prepared. But I am already wasting your time and I came so determined to be business-like. I got a copy of the local paper on the way, because I thought that the account in it would be clearer to you than I could tell it. Shall I read it?”