“Cyril shall know of this,” laughed Betty, as they went toward the door. “They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder—of the other fellow.”
Doris led the way to the gun-room, a place used by Algie Heathcote for his sporting implements and trophies of the chase. It was comfortably furnished in leather and oak and a cheerful fire was burning in the grate. Doris sank into the davenport and motioned to her companion to the place at her side. She was thoroughly alive to her danger, but the sportswoman in her made her keen to put it to the test.
“We are quite alone here,” she said coolly. “The others are not even within call. Now what do you want of me?”
Her audacity rather startled him, but he folded his arms and leaned back smiling.
“The papers of Riz-la-Croix, of course,” he said amiably.
“And how do you know they’re in my possession?”
He shrugged.
“Because they couldn’t possibly be anywhere else.”
“How do you know?”