“I am anxious to see you alone at once, Mr. Crossley,” she said.
She raised her eyes to the detective’s face as she spoke. He was placing his hat on the stand in the little narrow hall.
“Very well, madam, I wish to tell you my tidings without delay,” he replied.
“Then will you kindly show Lady Georgina to one room and take me to another?”
“May I take you to my drawing-room, madam?” said Crossley, bowing to Lady Georgina.
He opened a door on one side of the hall as he spoke, and ushered Lady Georgina into a small room, furnished in the ordinary style of a drawing-room of that class of house. There was a centre table on which some newspapers and one or two gaudily-bound books were placed. A paraffin lamp stood in the centre of the table, a bright fire burned in the grate; an easy-chair of old-fashioned make stood beside the fire.
“I shall do well here,” said Lady Georgina. “Do not pray give me another thought, only let me know when you have quite done with Mrs. Rowton.”
“One word, madam,” said Crossley, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I count it a providential arrangement that you are with the young lady. I have sore tidings for her. Heaven knows she will need help.”
There was a note in the detective’s voice which startled Lady Georgina, who was not a woman affected by nerves. She made no reply, however, beyond an emphatic nod of her head. The detective left the room, closing the door behind him. He took Nance at once into his private study, and motioned her to a chair. She loosened her cloak, but did not sit.
“I prefer to stand,” she said. “I want, Mr. Crossley, to learn your tidings at once and without preface.” She fixed her eyes on him as she spoke.