“Why, I'm sure, Miss Bronson, everybody knows you are going home to be married?”
“It is true that I am going home soon,” said she, “but I must decline to discuss my object in doing so.”
“Pray pardon me; I'm a journalist, you know,” said Mr. Murmurtot, “and I earn my living by impertinence. Have I not seen you before, sir?” he continued, facing Rayel. “I think you were at the theatre one evening some time ago—sat in the lower box at the right of the stage—I remember it well, sir.”
“I remember the occasion,” said my cousin, with his accustomed gravity.
“I read about that occurrence at Mr. Paddington's dinner-party, sir,” continued Mr. Murmurtot. “It was decidedly clever in you, sir—deucedly clever! Everybody is talking about it, now that the Count has been arrested.”
“Arrested!” I exclaimed; “has he been arrested?”
“Yes, this morning, for the robbery, you know. They say that the police have secured evidence that will convict him sure, but it seems they are not yet ready to make it public; reporters can't get the Inspector to say a word about it, you know—not a word.”
There were exclamations of surprise and gratification from all present, save Rayel, who remained silent, while a faint smile stole over his face.
“I knew they would find him out,” said he.
“I hear that you are a mind-reader, sir,” said Mr. Murmurtot, again addressing my cousin.