"I have come to congratulate him on his recovery."
"I understand. I want to say some things to you. You should know them before you see him. There is the matter of Adrian Fellowes."
"What about Adrian Fellowes?" Stafford asked evenly, yet he felt his heart give a bound and his brain throb.
"Does it matter to you now? At the inquest you were—concerned."
"I am more concerned now," he rejoined huskily.
He suddenly held out a hand to her with a smile of rare friendliness. There came over him again the feeling he had at the hospital when they talked together last, that whatever might come of all the tragedy and sorrow around them they two must face irretrievable loss.
She hesitated a moment, and then as she took his outstretched hand she said, "Yes, I will take it while I can."
Her eyes went slowly round the room as though looking for something—some point where they might rest and gather courage maybe, then they steadied to his firmly.
"You knew Adrian Fellowes did not die a natural death—I saw that at the inquest."
"Yes, I knew."