"I know all about that," said Hetherwick. "I'll tell you my side of it when you've had some tea. Forced her, I suppose, to write the letters?"
"They forced her to do that just as they forced us into the car," said Rhona, "with revolvers! And—they meant it. I suppose they've got the jewels now?"
"Remains to be seen," replied Hetherwick. "Did Madame Listorelle happen to tell you what those jewels were worth?"
"She talked about little else. Between eighty and ninety thousand pounds. She's in an awful state about them. But it was literally a question of her life or her jewels. I don't know what they'd have done with me. But now—I'm all right!"
Hetherwick opened a tin box, and producing a plum cake, held it up for Rhona to inspect.
"What d'you think of that for a cake?" he asked admiringly. "Present from my old aunt in the country—real, proper cake that. Yes," he went on, setting the cake on the table, "yes, yes; you're all right now. But, by George——"
Rhona said nothing; she saw that his relief at seeing her was greater and deeper than he cared to show. She poured out the tea; they sat discussing the recent events until dusky shadows began to fall over the whole room.
"I ought to be getting back to Riversreade," she remarked at last. "It's late."
"Wait a bit!" said Hetherwick, who by that time had told her all he knew. "There'll be a wire from Matherfield before long. Don't go down to Riversreade to-night. Telephone to Lady Riversreade that you're staying in town. Her sister will be there by now, and will have told her everything. Wait till we get the wire from Matherfield; then we'll go and dine somewhere, and you can put up at your old hotel in Surrey Street for the night. I want you to know what's happened at Southampton and——"
He broke off as a knock came at his outer door.