'What do you know of Redgrave?'
'I keep house for him at Wimbledon.'
'You?'
'Yes. I have done so for about a year.'
'And does he know who you are?'
'Well—perhaps not quite. He engaged me on the Continent. A friend of his (and of mine) recommended me, and he had reason to think I should be trustworthy. Don't misunderstand me. I am housekeeper—rien de plus. It's a position of confidence. Mr. Redgrave—but you know him.'
The listener's face was tumid and discoloured, his eyes bloodshot. With fearful intensity he watched every movement of Mrs. Maskell's features.
'How do you know I know him?'
'You've been at his place. I've seen you, though you didn't see me; and before I saw you I heard your voice. One remembers voices, you know.'
'Go on. What else have you seen or heard?'