“My dear girl, I don’t wish to belittle your attractions, or Miss Carstairs’, but I wish you had been more explicit at the time. I merely thought that in the course of one of your escapades you had favoured an objectionable person with your brother’s address instead of your own—an admirable expedient I admit—but I had not thought of the person being on your very heels, as it were.”
“But what do you know of him?” she asked, looking puzzled.
“The Zenith secretary sent me a letter this morning which had come from a Mr. Symington, of Dunford, and now you have strengthened my suspicion induced by the letter that he is also the objectionable person. Of course, there may be another Mr. Symington in Dunford, so I’ll let my messenger go ahead. It will be good training for him anyway—test his discretion and so on. What does Miss Carstairs say about Symington?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Has she mentioned a Mr. Hayward—Colin Hayward?”
“No.”
Just then the servant brought tea. When he had retired, Hilda said—
“John, do tell me what it all means.”
He looked at her gravely. “I don’t know yet. It may all mean nothing of any consequence. On the other hand it may mean something of considerable importance.”
“To you?”