Sheer fury enabled Rosamund to regain her self–control.
“Your foolish attack on me is disproved out of your own mouth,” she said, striving desperately to speak with her accustomed nonchalance. “Captain Warden has not written to you since I saw him in London. He is in Africa, it is true, but he has never been heard of after going ashore at Rabat fully three months ago. How can you pretend that you received a letter from him last night? My authority is an Under Secretary of State. Pray, who is yours?”
Under other conditions, Evelyn might have been warned by the imperious command to “hold her tongue” that Baumgartner telegraphed to his wife when that good lady was minded to interfere. But no consideration would stop her now. The memory of all she had suffered through the machinations of one evilly disposed woman upset her calm judgment. In other respects, she acted with a restraint that was worthy of a first–rate actress; people at the next table might have thought she was discussing the weather. Taking Warden’s letter from her pocket, she handed it to Lord Fairholme.
“I cited you as a witness,” she said. “Will you now act as a judge? Read that, and tell my friends which of us two is speaking truly.”
Despite his self–supposed shortcomings, Fairholme was a gentleman. Instinctively he believed Evelyn, but he shrank from the duty she entrusted to him.
“Oh, I say,” he bleated, “hasn’t this thing gone a bit too far already? Is it worth all the beastly fuss? There may be a mistake somewhere, you know. I’m sure, Miss Dane, nobody doubts your statement where this lucky chap Warden is concerned, an’, on the other hand, don’t you know, Mrs. Laing may have a perfectly fair explanation of the other business. So let it go at that, eh, what?”
“May I act as arbitrator?” said Baumgartner. “If I glance through your letter, Miss Dane, I may discover a means of settlement.”
Something in his tone, some hint of a crafty purpose behind the smooth–spoken words, beat through the haze of wrath and grief that clouded Evelyn’s mind. She could trust Fairholme with her lover’s letter, but not Baumgartner. To reveal to him what Warden had said about Mrs. Laing’s extraordinarily accurate knowledge of proceedings in the Solent and affairs in Nigeria would be tantamount to betraying her lover’s faith.
With splendid calmness she took the letter from the table and replaced it in her pocket.
“No, thank you, Mr. Baumgartner,” she said, “if Lord Fairholme declines to help me, nobody else can take his place. I appealed to him because he is aware that Mrs. Laing induced your groom to unlock the post–box and hand her my letter. The proof of my words lies here. It is for him to say whether or not he is satisfied he saw Mrs. Laing commit a theft.”