Then, with sudden vehemence:
“Do you realize what you’re saying? Good God, man, it can’t be true!”
“It is true, unless I’ve made some ghastly mistake,” answered Fayre steadily. “I thought she had discovered it and was keeping the secret from you.”
“My God, if that woman told her!” muttered Kean. “It’s the only explanation. What have you got to go on?”
“A letter Sybil wrote me, which reached me just after I had come on the photograph of Lee. I took it for granted that that was what she was alluding to.”
“You didn’t speak to her about it?”
“I haven’t seen her since. I had meant to, but there’s been no opportunity.”
Kean sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands.
“Thank God!” he murmured. “There’s some mistake. It’s impossible that she should have found out. She would never . . .”
He was interrupted by the insistent peal of the telephone-bell. With a half-frenzied exclamation he tore the receiver from its hook.