“Already!” said the doctor: “I should like to see it. Will you go with me, madame? I have two minutes to spare.”
Madame St. Vincent, showing no surprise, though she may have felt it, put the blue shawl on her shoulders again and followed Dr. Knox. The may-tree was nearly at the end of the garden, down by the shrubbery.
“Mr. Tamlyn mentioned to you, I believe, that we suspected something improper, in the shape of opiates, was being given to Lady Jenkins,” began Dr. Knox, never as much as lifting his eyes to the budding may-tree.
“Yes; I remember that he did,” replied Madame St. Vincent. “I hardly gave it a second thought.”
“Tamlyn said you had a difficulty in believing it. Nevertheless, I feel assured that it is so.”
“Impossible, Dr. Knox.”
“It seems impossible to you, I dare say. But that it is being done, I would stake my head upon. Lady Jenkins is being stupefied in some way: and I have brought you out here to tell you so, and to ask your co-operation in tracing the culprit.”
“But—I beg your pardon, Dr. Knox—who would give her anything of the kind? You don’t suspect me, I hope?”
“If I suspected you, my dear lady, I should not be talking to you as I am. The person we must suspect is Lettice Lane.”
“Lettice Lane!”