"I suppose," John said, feeling that a bold plunge was worth while, "the personage is the head of the German secret agents in England?"
"What makes you think that?"
"My dear Alice, you would not stand in such awe of anyone less important than that." For some minutes—since the time he had caught sight of the letter, in fact—he had resolved to call her "Alice" at the earliest opportunity. He was playing a part. He had taken up another man's love affair at an unknown state of development—a dangerous thing to do. However, the duel between them, he believed, was to his advantage. Mrs. Beecher Monmouth had made a false step. She had already revealed to him the existence of a high secret power—a power far above and beyond Cherriton and Manwitz.
"Alice," he said, suddenly, drawing his chair a little nearer and laying a hand on her arm, "tell me who is the Great Unknown?"
"Patience, patience, Bernard. You will hear, all in good time." She lifted his hand from her arm and pushed him gently away. At the same moment there came a low knock at the door. A discreet pause followed before Mrs. Beecher Monmouth's foreign maid, in cap and white apron, entered.
"The master's returned, ma'am."
The girl spoke in a low tone, intended for her mistress's ear alone, and immediately went out, closing the door behind her.
"Sit over there," commanded Mrs. Beecher Monmouth, waving John towards a chair at the hearth. "Sit over there, and be very good."
John moved to the hearth. He wondered if Bernard Treves had known the Ogre, or if an introduction was to take place. The awkwardness of the situation was solved for him a moment later, when the door behind him opened. In a slender strip of mirror on the opposite wall John saw the reflected figure of Beecher Monmouth, M.P. The pink light softened a little the bilious yellow of his skin. But he was still an unprepossessing object, with his bald head, his long, pointed nose, and his thin-lipped mouth.
Mrs. Monmouth rose as her husband entered, and went towards him with hands outstretched.