“I thank you. Who was your informant?”
“I am not at liberty to say. But—there is another who is also in danger.”
I paused. My throat felt dry and husky all at once; my heart was thumping against my ribs. I had told myself that I was not jealous of him, but—it was hard to speak of her to him!
He misconstrued my hesitation.
“You may trust me, Mr. Wynn,” he said gravely. “This person, do I know him?”
I stood up, resting my hand on the table for support.
“It is not a man. It is the lady whom some speak of as La Mort,—others as La Vie.”