‘Very well. You can’t expect me to tell you.’
‘As you please. It’s a queer thing; I felt pretty sure. But if you’re telling the truth, I don’t care a rap who the man is.’
‘You can rest in peace,’ said Nancy, with careless scorn.
‘Any way of convincing me, except by saying it?’
‘Yes. Wait here a moment.’
She left the room, and returned with the note which Crewe had addressed to her from the hotel at Falmouth.
‘Read that, and look at the date.’
Beatrice studied the document, and in silence canvassed the possibilities of trickery. No; it was genuine evidence. She remembered the date of Crewe’s journey to Falmouth, and, in this new light, could interpret his quarrelsome behaviour after he had returned. Only the discovery she had since made inflamed her with a suspicion which till then had never entered her mind.
‘Of course, you didn’t let him see you?’
‘Of course not.’.