"Oh, no, she isn't," said Bawdsey, coolly. "Lola told me that she was alive and still in San Remo. She could have made things very hot for my wife. But failing Ireland, my wife--Mrs. Jersey we will call her--had another string to her bow. She heard how Lord Derrington denied the marriage, and how you were living with your grandfather Lockwood. She went to Derrington and----"
"I know the rest. And you came to live in this house."
"Not at the time. I went back to the States, but as I could do nothing there I returned to England. Then I took up the private-inquiry business and called myself Bawdsey. I came to see my wife. She would not let me call myself her husband, and, as I had no great liking for her, I agreed. I was in this house for a few weeks and then I got my own diggings. I saw as little of Mrs. Jersey as was possible."
"Why was that?"
"Well, sir," replied Bawdsey, frankly, "I didn't hold with the annuity she was getting."
"In a word, you disapproved of the blackmail?"
"That's a good, useful word, sir," said Bawdsey, easily. "Yes, I did. I never would take a penny from her, and when I lived here during the few weeks I paid my board. Yes, sir, I'm an honest man."
George stretched out his hand and shook that of Bawdsey heartily. "I am convinced you are, Bawdsey, and I apologize for my suspicions. But in some ways--eh?"
"I didn't act very straight, you mean. Well, sir, when one deals with a criminal case one can't be too careful. I have had to tell lies, sir. And I say, Mr. Brendon," cried the detective, with a burst of confidence, "I would not have shown you that agreement. I guessed that Eliza would state who I was, and I didn't wish you to think that I was connected with her."
"Why not?"