Then he turned slowly.
“It is strange for you to come here,” he said moodily. “I wonder, madam, what you can have to say to me?”
“Do you wonder, Sir John Dalrymple?” answered Delia with a white hard face. “I come to ask you if you have those papers.”
He looked at her curiously.
“Have you those papers?” she repeated, holding herself very still. “We could not tell—there was ash on the floor—that night—of burnt paper—”
For all her terrible effort at calm, her voice failed her; Sir John spoke abruptly:
“I have all the information; all the papers relating to your plot against His Majesty,” he said. “I thought you knew.”
“I guessed,” answered Delia slowly. “And you have not used your information yet?”
“Not yet.”
“I have come to ask you to give those papers back to me,” she said faintly.