“Surely the man is not sober,” said the young lady in her finest style, and with just a faint smile at Dibble’s bewildered look.
“It hain’t the voice quite,” said Dibble; “but it be Chrissy, you know; she was the mysterious lady and——”
“And what?” exclaimed the Lieutenant.
Before Dibble had time to answer he caught “Chrissy’s” eye and its sudden expression of warning, such as that which he remembered coupled with her threats about the pistol; so he only stammered out something about being mistaken, and begging pardon——
“You’re alwayth making thome mithtake or other,” said Mrs. Dibble; “there, come along in the next room. I’m thorry I allowed him to come in, Mithter Thomerton, but hith headth bewildered, no doubt, with having been away from home tho much and having previouthly had my eye on him: and what he would do without ith a mythtery to me.”
The Lieutenant said, “All right, Mrs. Dibble, don’t apologise,” and poor Dibble slunk away into the kitchen and sat down, Mrs. D. following.
“There, Thomath, never mind,” said Mrs. Dibble in her blandest tones; “come and tell me all about it.”
But Dibble remembered how clever that mysterious lady of the show was; how fierce she was, and he trembled at the bare idea of her exercising any of her black arts upon him, in case he should betray her secret. It was quite clear that she did not wish him to know her; but he had made no mistake at all, he was sure of that; and Mrs. Dibble was sharp enough to see that there was some mystery here which she would assuredly have cleared up before Dibble went to sleep that night.
An unfortunate night altogether was this for the “mysterious lady.” Mr. Williamson had sent a messenger to the house for Lieutenant Somerton soon after Dibble’s strange arrival, and Paul had taken a cab, as requested, to the Temple, where he found the barrister in company with an unknown gentleman.
“This is Mr. Bales, the detective officer, of whom you have heard me speak,” said the barrister.