Neither Edgar nor Patricia spoke—Patricia because a shock had gone straight to her heart and left her breathless. The two who had thus unexpectedly emerged and disappeared in that silent moment were Harry and Rhoda Flower. The shock had been like a dagger in Patricia's heart. All her talk ceased. She felt that all her happiness was extinguished. She continued to walk by Edgar's side; but it was as one numbed and bewildered by a tragic happening. They were both very silent for the remainder of the journey, all the ease of their companionship destroyed.
At parting Patricia kept her betraying face half turned from Edgar, and stayed only for the briefest and coldest "Good night, and thank you," before setting her key to the door and slipping into the house. But Edgar had not failed to see that she was quite colourless, so that he too had something to think about upon his return journey.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE SIBYL
i
During that evening Edgar had been away from the others for about half-an-hour, seated in his room with bundles of papers belonging to his business. This was enforced, because his absence from England had led to great accumulations of work, and only by some such evening trouble could he hope to make good the time lost from the daily routine. So he had been busy. And quite by accident, Edgar had come across a single sheet of paper which had disturbed him out of all proportion to its size and importance among its fellows. It was with other papers in a small bundle surrounded by an elastic band; and in glancing through this bundle, flicking the letters apart, Edgar had caught sight of an arresting address. Hastily, though still without more than casual interest, he had stretched the band so as to see the whole of the letter. It was the signature which, taken in conjunction with the heading, had brought an exclamation to his lips. It had thrown him quite unexpectedly into a revelation concerning Monty Rosenberg. It opened to his investigation some at least of the interstices of Monty's dark and secret mind.
The occasion of Monty's sudden need of money had been for Edgar a curious puzzle. Monty's unwillingness to follow the obvious course, which was to raise a loan from his bank to tide him over the emergency, had been another puzzle. The third puzzle had been his reason for approaching Edgar for assistance. Edgar had explained the third puzzle by the fact that he had recently been engaged in business dealings with Monty (over the transfer to himself of the "Antiquarian's Gazette," in which no money had passed), and the possibility that Monty, who was secretive by nature, had no friend intimate enough to be asked—without explanation—for so large an amount as two-thousand five-hundred pounds. And the other two puzzles were both explained by the letter which Edgar had discovered.
The letter was written upon a single sheet of business note-paper, and was an acknowledgment of some trivial communication. But the heading was that of the South Hampstead branch of the Great Central Bank; and the signature was plainly to be read as "Frederick Tallentyre, Branch Manager." It became immediately clear why Monty should have wished to conceal any adjustment of his affairs from the manager of his local bank. Less clear was the immediate occasion. Frederick Tallentyre was the husband of Blanche. And Blanche, unless Edgar's perceptions were at fault, was Monty's present mistress. Now why should Monty want so large a sum at short notice? And why should he wish the fact of his requiring a loan concealed from the husband of his mistress?
That was one of Edgar's preoccupations as he walked homeward. As a business man, he needed to know as much as possible about all those with whom he was engaged in financial transactions, and he was not so wealthy as to regard two-thousand five-hundred pounds as a negligible sum. Had the money something to do with Blanche? And, if so, what had it to do with her?