An unobtrusive but reassuring pressure of his fingers upon her arm checked her, and she, feeling the intense relief of having another arm, another brain at her service, remained silent, listening, wondering, while he went on:—
“Of course my wife—this lady is my wife—is entirely innocent of any hand in the disappearance of anybody. But, at the same time, I recognise that it is a serious matter. What is it she was asking you if she might do?”
“Oh, Gerard, it doesn’t matter now,” sobbed out Audrey. “I—I wanted some one to break it gently to you, that was all. But now that you know, nothing matters, nothing matters. I was afraid it would be a shock to you, that’s all.”
“Well, it is a shock, a great shock, naturally,” admitted Gerard. “You can understand this when I tell you,” and he turned to the two men, “that I am rejoining my wife to-day after a long absence.”
Audrey was rather surprised at this unexpected and apparently uncalled-for confidence on her husband’s part, and she was still more astonished when he went on:—
“But our domestic affairs are, of course, no concern of yours. At the same time I daresay, now that you know what I have just told you, you will make allowance for the irritation my poor wife has shown, and you will not suppose she had any wish to interfere with the course of justice!”
“Justice!” echoed Audrey faintly, more amazed than ever at the calmness with which her husband received the horrible news.
“I repeat—justice,” said Gerard firmly. “If this unfortunate lady has disappeared, naturally she must be found, or traced. You can’t expect her friends to take her disappearance calmly. And may I ask,” and he turned from the one man to the other, “which of you has the warrant?”
The man in the policeman’s boots nodded.
“I have it, sir,” he said.