At that moment the elderly man left the window.
“It’s of no good, sir, I’m afraid. The one rogue’s got off as clear as the other. Can you tell me where Maynard is, miss?”
I got up from the sofa and led the way into the dining-room. Mrs. Rayner was still sitting, pale and upright, with staring gray eyes, Maynard still sleeping. The other detective shook him, and glanced at the wine.
“Drugged,” said he shortly.
With a few vigorous shakes he succeeded in rousing Maynard, and, when he began to look around him in a dazed way, the other said sharply—
“Pretty fellow you are to be hoodwinked like that, and drink and sleep quietly under the very roof of one of the greatest scoundrels unhung!”
“Who?” said the other, startled. “Mr. Rayner?”
“Mr. Rayner! Yes, ‘Mr. Rayner’ to simple folk like you; but to me and every thief-taker that knows his business—the missing forger, James Woodfall!”
CHAPTER XXIX.
As the detective pronounced the name “James Woodfall,” I gave a cry that startled them all. Shaken as my trust in Mr. Rayner had already been, the shock seemed in a moment to change the aspect of the whole world to me. I shrank even from Laurence as he would have put his arms round me, and my wild wandering eyes fell upon Mrs. Rayner, who sat with her hands tightly clasped and head bent, listening to the proclamation of the secret which had weighed her down for years. And, as I looked at her, the scales seemed to fall from my eyes, my dull wits to become keener, and part of the mystery of the house on the marsh to grow clear to me.