A deep, low voice suddenly sounded in her ears, “Good morning, Miss Fairfield.”
Such commonplace words! Yet as Captain Stuart held out his hand, for the second time to-day the tears welled up into Lily’s eyes. But this time it was because there had come over her a sensation of such infinite relief. Somehow she felt as if the man before her was a bit of home, and she realised how dreadfully lonely and forlorn she had been since they had last met.
As for Angus Stuart, he was looking at Lily with concern. She looked ill—very ill! She was pale, and there was a look of terror on her face. What could have happened? A feeling of positive hatred for the Count and Countess Polda rose up in the young man’s mind. What could they have done to make the girl look as she was looking this morning?
“Is anything the matter?” he asked abruptly.
Lily pulled herself together. “Forgive me!” she exclaimed. “It’s stupid of me to be so upset. But something dreadful has happened to me this morning! I’ll tell you about it, and then you will be able to advise me as to whether I ought to go to the police—now, at once. I also thought of asking M. Popeau what I had better do.”
“Tell me what happened,” he said quietly. “We will go and find Popeau presently. He’s taking a little constitutional up and down outside the Hôtel de Paris.”
And then Lily told him shortly and quietly of her awful discovery in the orange grove.
Angus Stewart was greatly surprised as well as concerned at her story. Then he had done the Count and Countess Polda an injustice? They were in no way responsible for the way Lily Fairfield looked this morning.
“D’you mean that you’ve no doubt that the poor fellow you found to-day was the man who was dining at La Solitude the night you arrived?” he asked.
The fact struck him with fresh surprise. What queer people Count Polda must know! He had very little doubt in his own mind that the unfortunate Ponting had committed suicide after a big loss at the Casino.