"Forgive me, Anstice! The subject we were discussing is one on which I find it difficult to hold my peace. But knowing you, I know that suicide is not, would never be, the way out to one of your disposition."
Anstice moved restlessly.
"Odd you should use that expression," he said quickly. "Others have employed it in connection with this miserable story of mine. No, suicide is not the way out—nor is another expedient to which I have had recourse. But"—suddenly his face lost its quietness and grew keen, alert—"this slander has got to be stopped. You see this is not the first time the neighborhood has been infested with this plague."
"You refer to the unhappy circumstances connected with my predecessor's wife?"
"Yes. You know the story, of course?"
"Yes. I am also acquainted—but very slightly—with Mrs. Carstairs."
"Then you know a much-maligned woman," said Anstice. "And it is in order to save her from further unhappiness that I intend to sift this matter to the bottom."
"I am delighted to hear you say so," said Carey earnestly. "And if I can help you in any way my services are yours. First of all, how do you propose starting on the sifting process?"
"I have already made a start," rejoined Anstice. "Through the good offices of Sir Richard Wayne, who has also been pestered with a letter, I have discovered that the writing of those communications and of those earlier ones you mentioned just now is in many respects identical."
Carey sat upright, his face alight with interest.