“Did you mention it to Mrs. Hillmer?”
“No. To tell the honest truth, Gwen and I had quarrelled a couple of days before. That is to say, we disagreed seriously about a certain matter, and it was this which led to my making off to Monte Carlo. Therefore it was hardly likely I should mention such a trivial matter to her.”
“May I ask what you quarrelled about?”
“I have told her since that it ought to be made known, but she has implored me not to reveal it, so I cannot. But she will tell you herself that we agreed I should be at liberty to make this guarded explanation.”
Bruce and the detective exchanged glances of wondering comprehension.
“I do not think we need question Mr. Mensmore further,” said the barrister to White.
“No,” was the reply. “The matter is clear enough. Mrs. Hillmer must tell us how that furniture came to be transferred from her premises on the morning of the 7th.”
“If she chooses.”
The barrister’s tone was sad, and its ominous significance was not lost on his hearers.
Mrs. Hillmer raised her veil. Her face was deathly pale and tense in its fixed agony. But in her eyes was a light which gave a curious aspect of resolve to her otherwise painful aspect of utter grief.