“To tell you would not add to your store of knowledge,” she retorted. “Have you more to say, Mr. Warburton?”
“More? yes. Who are these Francoises? What are they to you?”
Her answer came with slow deliberation. “They call themselves my father and mother.”
“My God!”
“It is true. I was adopted by the Ulimans. My husband and Mr. Follingsbee were aware of this. It seems that I was given to the Ulimans by these people.”
She had aimed this blow at his pride, but that pride was swallowed up by his consternation. As she watched his countenance, the surprise changed to incredulity, the incredulity to contempt. Then he said, dryly:
“Your story is excellent, but too improbable. Will you answer a few more questions?”
“Ask them.”
“On the night of the masquerade you received here, in your husband’s house, by appointment, a man disguised in woman’s apparel.”
“Well?”