I looked at Lorna's face almost instinctively. It was very pale, and
there could be no doubt but that she was terribly shocked by the news.
And yet I felt sure I saw a look on her face which suggested relief.
But beyond her quick breathing she uttered no sound.
'It's terrible,' went on Sir Thomas, 'but after—after last night I'm not sure—it's—it's not a relief to us all. Evidently the fellow——; but—but it's terrible, isn't it? Of course the hotel people wired St. Mabyn, as he told them at the bureau that he had just come from his house.'
'How did he die?' I asked.
'Poison,' replied Sir Thomas. 'He seems to have injected some sort of Indian poison into his veins. Evidently he had it with him, as the doctor says it is unobtainable anywhere in England. He left a letter, too.'
'A letter? To whom?'
'I don't quite know. To George St. Mabyn I expect. Awful, isn't it?'
I saw him look at Lorna; but her face told him nothing. She appeared perfectly calm, although I felt sure she was suffering.
'I am awfully sorry your visit should have ended like this, Luscombe,' said Sir Thomas three hours later; 'but you must come down again when you can get a day or two off. Don't wait for a formal invitation; we shall always be glad to see you.'
'Thank you, I'll take you at your word, Sir Thomas; meanwhile you'll keep me posted up with the news, won't you?'
'You mean about—— Yes, I'll let you know what happens. Where are you going, Lorna?'