“Mensmore has been brought back to London by Mrs. Hillmer to face the allegations made against him with regard to your wife’s disappearance. They came here by their own appointment, and—”
“Did I not tell you that this charge against Mensmore was wild folly on the face of it?”
“So it seems, when we have just discovered that your wife was killed in his sister’s house, and Mrs. Hillmer persists in declaring that she was responsible for the crime.”
“Look here, Bruce. Don’t lose your head like everybody else mixed up in this wretched business. My wife is not dead.”
“What!” The cry was a double one, for both Bruce and White gave simultaneous utterance to their amazement.
“It is true. She is alive all the time. I have had a letter from her.”
“A letter. Surely, Dyke—”
“I am neither mad nor drunk. The letter reached me by this morning’s post. I came here with it as fast as I could travel. I have been in the train all day, and am nearly fainting from hunger.”
“Where is it?” cried White. “Is it genuine?”