"To which he declines to reply," replied Mr. Spolger, coolly.
"Why?"
Judith had risen to her feet and was clinging to Francis Marson's arm, while Roger and Spolger looked steadily at one another. The whole four of them were so intent upon the conversation that they did not see a little figure enter the door and pause on the threshold at the sound of the angry voices.
"You agitate me," said the valetudinarian, angrily. "I am not used to be agitated, sir. I was telling my friend a private story, and you should not have listened.
"I apologise," replied Roger, bowing. "I did not intend to give offence, but I wondered how it was you guessed Melstane would never return."
The little figure stole nearer.
"What do you mean?" asked Spolger, quickly.
Judith leaned on Marson's arm with her face deadly white and her eyes dilated, waiting—waiting for what she dreaded to think.
"I mean about the Jarlchester Mystery."
Mr. Marson said nothing, but with a face as pale as that of the woman on his arm, stared steadily at Roger Axton. At the mention of Jarlchester the figure behind came slowly along until Florry Marson, with a look of terror on her face, stood still as a statue behind her lover.