"If you wish it; I'll take the risk."
"Very good, I'm off!" and with an abrupt nod Alan ran down the lane. Blair looked after him with a queer smile on his dry face. He had his own ideas regarding the termination of Alan's attempt to make Brown the mysterious speak out.
Mrs. Warrender was at home when the inspector called. At first she felt she could not see him, for the idea of coming into contact with the police was abhorrent to her. She wondered if Blair could have discovered the relationship which existed between herself and Cicero, and it was her anxiety to ascertain this which made her grant the inspector an interview. If her brother were playing her false, the more she knew about his plans the better would she be able to frustrate them. Mrs. Warrender was a capable woman, and had a genius for intrigue. She was quite decided that she could hold her own even against the trained intelligence of a police officer.
And so it came about that the gentleman in question was shown into the drawing-room, a meretricious, gaudy apartment, which betrayed in furniture and decoration the tawdry taste of the doctor's widow.
She came forward to receive him in an elaborate tea-gown of pink silk trimmed with lace, and, in spite of the early hour, she wore a quantity of jewels. Blair had an eye for beauty, and could not deny that this lady was a fine woman, though, perhaps, too much of the ponderous type. He wondered why she did not wear mourning. She could have cared but little for her husband, he thought, to appear in gay colors so soon after his untimely end. But, in truth, Mrs. Warrender had never professed to be an affectionate wife. She had married for a home, and made no secret of it.
"Good-morning," she said, with a sharp glance at Blair's impassive face. "I understand that you belong to the police, and that you wish to see me--why, I cannot conceive."
"If you will permit me to explain myself, I will soon give you my reasons," said the inspector, in his best manner. "May I sit down? Thank you. Now we can talk at our ease."
"I suppose it is about the sad end of my poor husband," she said, in tones of grief, which her gay attire somewhat belied. "Have you found out the truth?"
"No; but I hope to do so--with your assistance."
She looked up suddenly.