Mrs. Montgomery remembered Paul as the boy who was the real owner of the diamond ring, and she eyed him with increased suspicion.
“Did my husband send you? When did you see him.”
“Just now, at Tiffany's,” answered Paul, significantly.
“What is his message?” asked Mrs. Montgomery, beginning to feel uneasy.
Paul glanced at the landlady, who, in the hope of gratifying her curiosity, maintained her stand by his side.
“The message is private,” he said.
“I suppose that means that I am in the way,” remarked the landlady, sharply. “I don't want to pry into anybody's secrets. Thank Heaven, I haven't got any secrets of my own.”
“Walk in, young man,” said Mrs. Montgomery.
Paul entered the room, and she closed the door behind him. Meanwhile the landlady, who had gone part way downstairs, retraced her steps, softly, and put her ear to the keyhole. Her curiosity, naturally strong, had been stimulated by Paul's intimation that there was a secret.
“Now,” said Mrs. Montgomery, impatiently, “out with it! Why does my husband send a message by you, instead of coming himself?”