I have no doubt that among your uncle’s more important patients there must be someone acquainted with Sir Harold who would be willing to give you a note of introduction to him. It might, however, be better to call on him and just take your chance.
I wish I had some good news for you. I am going on prosecuting my inquiries in a somewhat new field. In such a case as this, one never knows when one may obtain a clue.
Yours very truly,
James Kentworthy.
P. S. What you have to do with regard to Sir Harold Anstey is to convince him, as fully as you have convinced me, of the truth of your and Mr. Garlett’s assertion that you were scarcely acquainted at the time of his wife’s death, and that you did not become really friends till close on five months later. Do not forget to take with you the facsimiles of—you know what.
Jean made up her mind at once that she would act on Kentworthy’s second thoughts. She decided, therefore, to go by herself to London, and, without giving him any notice, call at the famous barrister’s chambers on the chance of seeing him.
So the two people, whose anxious loving scrutiny of her day by day was sometimes more than she could bear, were disturbed and surprised when she suddenly observed:
“I want to go to London next Monday by myself. I’ve got a friend who will put me up for the night. I don’t want to tell you why I’m going, so please don’t ask me. But you will be glad to know that it is something I’m doing with the full approval of Mr. Kentworthy.” And then suddenly she grew very red. “I ought not to have said that,” she exclaimed in a distressed tone. “Will you try and forget it, and never, never tell any one?”
She looked from one to the other.
“Very well, my dear. But be careful. Mr. Toogood told me the other day that he had a great horror of anything like amateur”—the doctor hesitated a moment and then said, “spying.”