Mr Drelincourt managed to say, though hoarsely: “Maidenhead.”
“I trust he will return it to its rightful owner. You realize, do you, Crosby, that your genius for recognizing my property is sometimes at fault?”
Mr Drelincourt muttered: “I thought it was—I—I may have been mistaken.”
“You were mistaken,” said his lordship.
“Yes, I—yes, I was mistaken. I beg pardon, I am sure. I am very sorry, cousin.”
“You will be still more sorry, Crosby, if one word of this passes your lips again. Do I make myself plain?”
“Yes, yes, indeed, I—I thought it my duty, no more, to—to tell you.”
“Since the day I married Horatia Winwood,” said his lordship levelly, “you have tried to make mischief between us. Failing, you were fool enough to trump up this extremely stupid story. You bring me no proof—ah, I am forgetting! Lord Lethbridge took your proof forcibly from you, did he not? That was most convenient of him.”
“But I—but he did!” said Mr Drelincourt desperately.
“I am sorry to hurt your feelings,” said the Earl, “but I do not believe you. It may console you to know that had you been able to lay that brooch before me I still should not have believed ill of my wife. I am no Othello, Crosby, I think you should have known that.” He stretched out his hand for the bell, and rang it. Upon the entrance of a footman, he said briefly: “Mr Drelincourt’s chaise.”