"Very neat, Mr. Hetherwick, very neat indeed!" he said. "Uncommonly neat—eh?"
But Hetherwick knew that he was not referring to the parcel.
CHAPTER XXVII
THE ASSURANCE
Rhona went back to her old quarters at the little hotel in Surrey Street for that night, and next morning Hetherwick came round to her, with an armful of newspapers. Finding her alone, he laid them on the table at her side with a significant nod of his head at certain big black letters which topped the uppermost columns.
"Matherfield must have given plenty of informing news to the pressmen last night," he remarked with a grim smile. "It's all in there—his own adventures at Southampton yesterday; mine and Robmore's in Westminster, and all the rest of it. I believe the newspaper people call this sort of thing a story—and a fine story it makes! Winding up, of course, with the dramatic arrest of Baseverie at Waterloo! I'm afraid we're in for publicity for a time, worse luck!"
"Shall we—shall I—have to appear at that man's trial?" asked Rhona.
"That's unavoidable, I'm afraid, and at other things before that," answered Hetherwick. "There'll be the proceedings before the magistrate, and the adjourned inquest, and so on. Can't be helped; and there'll be some satisfaction in knowing that we're ridding the world of a peculiarly cruel and cold-blooded murderer! That chap Baseverie is certainly as consummate a villain as I ever heard of. A human spider—and clever in his web-spinning. But I wish one had a few more particulars on one point—and yet I don't see how one's to get them."
"What point?" asked Rhona.