“These are Mr. Bodery's,” she replied, looking at him with some concentration.
“And what newspaper does Mr. Bodery read?” asked the Frenchman, holding out his hand.
She hesitated for a moment. His position with regard to her was singular, his ascendency over her had never been tried. It was an unknown quantity; but the Vicomte d'Audierne knew his own power.
“Let me look, little girl,” he said quietly in French.
She handed him the newspapers, still watching his face.
“The Beacon,” he muttered, reading aloud from the ornamented wrapper, “a weekly journal.”
He threw the papers down and returned to the Times, which he unfolded.
“Tell me, Hilda,” he said, “is Mr. Bodery connected with this weekly journal, the Beacon?”
Her back was turned towards him. She was hanging up the key of the post-bag on a nail beside the fireplace.
“Yes,” she replied, without looking round.