"What does the man mean?" asked Mrs. Ward, haughtily, but looking disturbed.
"Lord Derrington," said Ireland, "I think if you will permit this lady and me to have a talk----"
"There seems to be some mistake," said Derrington. "Mrs. Ward, will you not wait until we rectify it?"
"No. The man is mad. Let me pass, sir. There is the cab."
She would have stepped out but Ireland again placed his bulky form in her way. It was all done so tactfully that the footman on the pavement did not notice anything unusual. The man was waiting by the cab to assist Mrs. Ward in. But Ireland would not let her pass.
"Lord Derrington," he said softly, lest the footman should overhear, "this is the lady who was with your son when he was murdered."
Derrington was not easily startled, but he turned suddenly white. Mrs. Ward shrank back into the hall. Now that the truth was told she seemed to recover from her fears and to regain all her tact. "I shall not want the cab at present," she said to the footman. "Tell the man to wait. Lord Derrington, if you do not wish these private affairs to be discussed in the presence of the servants we had better return to the library."
Lord Derrington could only stare, being confounded at her coolness. He was much moved by the unexpected mention of his dead son, and without a word went up the stairs again, while Mrs. Ward followed, and Ireland came at her heels. She looked as though she were a prisoner between two guards.
When they found themselves in the library Derrington closed the door and went to his seat. He looked much older, having aged in a most extraordinary manner under the shock of Ireland's information. Mrs. Ward was perfectly cool, and resumed her former seat. As to Ireland, he let himself carefully down into the most capacious armchair he could find. Mrs. Ward opened the conversation at once.
"You say you saw me at San Remo?" she asked.