“Why should I answer you? What right have you to question me? If I choose to say I am going home, you should be satisfied. And if you follow me, as you suppose, and find I have not gone home, you should shrug you shoulders, and tell yourself that it is no affair of yours. As for what you saw to-night, what did it amount to? You saw me go into the police-station—and you saw me go out of it. Is it absolutely necessary for me to report the fact to you, if I get my pocket picked?”
“Of course not. But—the change in your dress was singular!”
“I don’t think I’m called upon to explain that; but you can know if you like. I did not wish to be recognized, as I went in, and so I borrowed some clothes that, as I supposed, effectually disguised me.” She turned to him fiercely again. “Surely your ill-natured suspicions ought to be set at rest, since you saw that I came out as freely as I went in!”
“I said nothing about suspicions; but I have something to tell you. I found your sister at Lady Jennings’ house, and she had come with a strange message.”
Foreseeing bad news of some kind, Miss Davison changed her languid, listless attitude, and sitting up, looked at him apprehensively.
“Well, well, go on. Do you know what brought her?”
“Yes. I’m very sorry, very sorry indeed to have to worry you with more anxieties when you are tired. But you had better be prepared to find both your sister and Lady Jennings rather puzzled.”
“Oh, go on, go on,” said Miss Davison impatiently.
“It seems that a gentleman called at Richmond—at the school—yesterday, I think—”
He had got no further when he saw by the sudden change which came over her face that Miss Davison’s listlessness was entirely gone. She was alert, keen, desperately interested at once. He went on—