In a few, rather incoherent sentences, she told him the story of Mary’s arrival and of her subsequent illness. But she had hardly finished her story—had not, in fact, completed it—when Mary almost sprang at her, shaking her roughly by the arm.
“My baby!” she cried. “Where is my baby?”
They soothed her gradually and when they had heard her story Thoyne took her to Liverpool himself, where they found the child safe and well cared for, a matter on which those responsible had good cause to congratulate themselves when they received Thoyne’s very handsome present. Thoyne took Mary back to the home of the carrier and his wife and there the girl remained until she died.
“And that,” Thoyne concluded, “is the whole story, which I never intended to tell, never should have told, but for the suspicions that seem to have arisen out of it.”
“You were a fool,” Lady Clevedon the elder said tartly. “You had better have told me or Kitty all about it and left it to us. We would have looked after the baby.”
CHAPTER XXVI
NORA LEPLEY’S EXPLANATION
“And now,” Lady Clevedon said, “who was it killed Sir Philip? You promised to tell us, you know.”
“I will,” I responded, “but I am not yet quite ready.”
“No, but dinner is,” the younger Lady Clevedon interrupted. “Suppose we have that first.”
“And after that,” I added, “I should like to see Nora Lepley again, but alone this time.”