"I am not quite certain, but I believe it was Paul Lopez," said Lefroy.
Mrs. Benstein rose from her seat, and flicked a solitary crumb from her dress. On the whole she did not seem displeased with the day's work.
"Enough for the present," she said. "Take me out and see me into a swift taxi."
CHAPTER XXV.
A STRIKING LIKENESS.
Frobisher had passed a bad night, and he looked as if he were likely to have an equally unpleasant morning. A small dealer out St. Alban's way claimed to have found three new orchids in his last speculative parcel, and Frobisher had set his mind on seeing them before some other soulless and selfish collector stepped in. But a slip of blue paper, humorously accompanied by a shilling, told him that his presence was imperative at the adjourned inquest on the body of the man unknown, who had been found murdered in the greenhouse at Streatham.
"Now what possible connection can I have with that?" he grumbled, as he ate his breakfast. "It was bad enough for Manfred to thoughtlessly lose his life in my conservatory: And here's a letter from George Arnott. He has a great deal of complaint about you, Angela."
"I am properly flattered by his consideration," Angela said coldly.
"Oh, that's all very well, young lady. But you are going to marry George Arnott all the same. That young scoundrel Denvers had better make the most of his time."
"He will do that without any encouragement from you," Angela replied. "Mr. Arnott is an unspeakable little cad, and I would as soon marry your butler. Indeed, I insult the butler by comparison."