“I have not got the cheque—I could not return it if I would,” said Mrs Moffatt, hoarsely. “My husband cashed it as soon as the bank was open, and left London shortly after. He has the money. I have not had a cent of it. The notes are in my purse. He left them so that I should be able to follow.”
“Just so. You will please return them to Miss Briskett, and we will deal with the other sum later on. Your intention was to leave the hotel for good this morning, and you provided Miss Briskett with commissions to keep her out of the way while you made your preparations. That is the case, is it not?”
The woman did not answer, but looked across the room towards where Cornelia stood; and Cornelia parted her hands and looked back at her in pitiful inquiry.
“Did you mean to run away, and leave me here alone?”
Mrs Moffatt bent her head in shame. Her face was not white now, but deep, burning red.
“We knew—after last night—that the game was up. We had to go, Cornelia—or—”
“Be kind enough not to address Miss Briskett by her Christian name!” interrupted Guest, sharply. It seemed to him an impossible humiliation that this woman should still dare to address the girl in the language of friendship. “Let us get to the end of this business. I presume there are other bills, which will come in, in due course; bills for goods ordered in other forged notes. Am I right in supposing this? It is your best plan to speak the truth!”
“Y–es!”
“There are more bills! Can you give me an approximate idea of their amount? Fifty pounds, one hundred, two hundred? What is the amount?”
“About—one hundred.”