“I have reason to think it. Lettice Lane’s antecedents are not, I fear, quite so clear as they might be: though it is only recently I have known this. At any rate, she is the personal attendant of Lady Jenkins; the only one of them who has the opportunity of being alone with her. I must beg of you to watch Lettice Lane.”
Madame St. Vincent looked a little bewildered; perhaps felt so. Stretching up her hand, she plucked one of the budding may-blossoms.
“Mr. Tamlyn hinted at Lettice also. I have always felt confidence in Lettice. As to drugs—Dr. Knox, I don’t believe a word of it.”
“Lady Jenkins is being drugged,” emphatically pronounced Dr. Knox. “And you must watch Lettice Lane. If Lettice is innocent, we must look elsewhere.”
“Shall I tax Lettice with it?”
“Certainly not. You would make a good detective,” he added, with a laugh; “showing your hand to the enemy. Surely, Madame St. Vincent, you must yourself see that Lady Jenkins is being tampered with. Look at her state this morning: though she is not quite as bad as she is sometimes.”
“I have known some old people sleep almost constantly.”
“So have I. But theirs is simply natural sleep, induced by exhausted nature: hers is not natural. She is stupefied.”
“Stupefied with the natural decay of her powers,” dissented madame. “But—to drug her! No, I cannot believe it. And where would be the motive?”
“That I know not. But I am sure I am not mistaken,” he added decisively. “You will watch Lettice Lane?”