"And yet it looks as if she were certainly the Mrs. Whittingham who did a Sellithwaite jeweller to the tune of four thousand pounds!" laughed Hetherwick. "That wasn't very honest or straightforward!"
"I've been thinking about that," said Rhona. "Perhaps, after all, she really thought the cheque would be met, and anyway, she did send the man his money, even though it was a long time afterwards. And again—an important matter!—Lady Riversreade may not be Mrs. Whittingham at all. More women than one wear wristlets of velvet."
"But—the portrait!" exclaimed Hetherwick. "The positive identity!"
"Well," answered Rhona, "I'm willing to go there and to try to find out more. But, frankly, I think Lady Riversreade's all right! First impression, anyhow!"
The cab drew up at the "White Horse," and Hetherwick led Rhona into the coffee-room. But they had hardly taken their seats when the manager came in.
"Does your name happen to be Hetherwick, sir?" he inquired. "Just so—thank you. A Mr. Mapperley has twice rung you up here during the last hour—he's on the phone again now, if you'll speak to him."
"I'll come," said Hetherwick. "That's my clerk," he murmured to Rhona as he rose. "I told him to ring me up here between twelve and three if necessary. Back in a minute."
But he was away several minutes, and when he came to her again, his face was grave. "Here's a new development!" he said, bending across the table and whispering. "The police have found the man who was with your grandfather in the train! Matherfield wants me to identify him. And you'll gather from that that they've found him dead! We must lunch quickly and catch the two-twenty-four."