Audrey’s two brothers were settled, the one in Canada and the other in Hong-Kong, so that rapid communication with them, even if it had been advisable, was out of the question.
The solicitor whom they had employed in the forgery case had earned Audrey’s ferocious enmity and disapproval by allowing it to be seen that, while doing his best for his client, he had little doubt as to his guilt.
The only other person whom she could think of whose advice and help might be of assistance was Mr. Candover. And although he was very kind now, Audrey had not yet forgiven him for what she considered his neglect of Gerard during his trial. Besides, carefully courteous and chivalrous as Mr. Candover was, charmingly as he had allayed a certain vague mistrust of hers by introducing his daughters to her, Audrey was clear-sighted enough to understand that it would not do to let this handsome, attractive man of the world become, what he was apparently not unwilling to be, her only adviser and confidant.
What was she then to do? Sure as she felt of her facts as to the occurrences of the previous evening, she hesitated, when she had time to think the matter over, to court publicity of a hideous kind by calling in the police to investigate the matter.
On the other hand, she felt that she could not rest satisfied with the meagre knowledge she had at present. How could she go back to these rooms, with the remembrance of that strange and dreadful scene full in her mind, without one effort to elucidate the mystery?
If Mademoiselle Laure would speak, no doubt something would be learnt. But how to make her open her lips, in the face of her present obstinate determination to know nothing?
Against her will, poor Audrey was at last obliged to acknowledge that there was only one person to whom she could make known her difficulty, with any prospect of advice and help. In desperation she wrote a few lines to Mr. Candover, telling him that something so strange had happened at the showrooms that she did not like even to return to them without consulting some one, and asking if he would meet her at an Oxford Street confectioner’s, whose name she gave, at nine o’clock on the following morning.
She sent this note by messenger to Mr. Candover’s flat in Victoria Street, and got the answer by the morning’s post:—
“Dear Madame Rocada,
“Of course I will be there. I hope it is nothing serious which is troubling you so much.
“Yours always,
“Reginald Candover.”
Audrey frowned when she saw the address. She had taken her rooms in the name of Madame Rocada, “Angmering” being too uncommon a name not to be recognised and commented on. Absolutely sure as she felt of her husband’s innocence of the supposed crime for which he was suffering, Audrey preferred not to be the object of the gossip which would certainly have centred round her if her identity had been known.