"Oh yes, it was Sir Karl," was the contemptuous answer, given as they walked on together. "It is not the first night by a good many he has been seen stealing in at those gates."
"Paying his court to Mrs. Grey!" returned Mr. Strange, really speaking without any sinister motive, and his mind full of Salter.
Miss Blake, in the honest indignation of her heart, and lately come from the upright exhortations of the Reverend Guy, allowed her sentiments their play. Mr. Strange's remark, made in all innocence, had seemed to show her that he too knew of the scandal.
"It is shameful!" she said. "Doubly shameful in Sir Karl, a married man."
Mr. Strange pricked up his ears. He caught her meaning instantly.
"Nonsense!" said he.
"I wish it was nonsense," said Miss Blake. "When the woman, Betsy Chaffen, was telling the tale in your rooms that day, of the gentleman she saw, and whom she could never see afterwards, I could hardly contain myself, dear sir, knowing it was Sir Karl."
"And--and--do you mean--do you think that there's no Mr. Grey there--no gentleman inmate, I would say?" cried the detective, surprised for once.
"Mr. Grey!" she repeated, scoffingly. "The only 'Mr. Grey' that exists is Sir Karl Andinnian; I have known it a long while. One or two others here know it also. It is a scandal."
She wished him good night with the last words, crossed the road, and let herself into the grounds of the Court by one of the small gates, leaving Mr. Strange looking after her like a man in a dream, as he tried to solve the problems set a-working in his brain.