Mrs. Hillmer was manifestly anxious, but she promised to try to understand him fully before she formed any judgment.
“Then,” said he, “I can clear the air a good deal by a simple statement. Mr. White is no agent of mine, and I have seen your brother, Albert Mensmore, at Monte Carlo.”
Mrs. Hillmer gave a little gasp of surprise. “You have seen Bertie?”
“Yes; your brother, is he not?”
“My half-brother, to be exact. My father was married twice. I—I am the elder of the two by four years.”
“Apart from the compliment, you do not look it. But what you say explains the total absence of likeness between you.”
“Possibly. People said we each resembled our mother. And Bertie, you know, has led a somewhat adventurous career. He roughed it a good deal in America. But what has all this got to do with detectives, and recent inquiries, and that sort of thing?”
“Much. The last time we met I told you that your brother was mixed up in some little affair with a lady.”
Mrs. Hillmer laughed, a trifle constrainedly. “If you knew Bertie as well as I do, you would not harbor suspicions concerning him. He never had a love affair in his life. Indeed, he is something of a woman-hater.”