“Do you expect him in the course of the next few days?”
“He may come any time.” Her suspicions were fully aroused, and with the object of dismissing him and also extracting some information from him she said, “And who shall I tell him called?”
Crewe handed her a card and watched her as she read the name.
“Mr. Crewe!” she exclaimed with a note of surprise and alarm in her voice. “Not Mr. Crewe of—of London?”
“I live in London,” he replied.
“Not Mr. Crewe, the—famous detective?”
“That is my occupation,” was the modest rejoinder.
“Oh, I am pleased to see you,” was her unexpected exclamation. She smiled as she looked him over. He was much younger and much better-looking than the Mr. Crewe of her imagination, and these things lessened her fear of him. “Inspector Murchison came down to see Mr. Brett on Saturday last, but he had gone away two days before,” she said. “I promised the inspector I would send him word when Mr. Brett returned.” She seemed to have changed completely since learning Crewe’s name, and to be anxious to supply information.
“I have seen Inspector Murchison,” he said.
“If I knew Mr. Brett’s present address I would telegraph to him,” she continued. “I don’t think he can have heard of the murder of poor Mr. Lumsden, or he would have come back at once.”