"There's a good deal more in me than you imagine. Why didn't you speculate in those Mexican shares I told you about? You'd have made a pile."
"I should; you were right in that instance. It has always struck me you know a good deal about Mexico."
"Perhaps I do; it's a great country, I'm told."
"I suppose you have not been there?" she said.
"If I had, I should probably be better off."
"If you must go to London, go. I'll follow in a few days," she said.
"You seem to have suddenly taken an interest in the place."
"I have, I like it. It is my first visit. I think it beautiful," she said.
He wondered why she wished to remain, but did not question her further. In the afternoon he went to London. She was glad to be alone; she wanted to be quiet and think. Supposing Hector Woodridge had escaped from Dartmoor, and was not dead, what would happen? What would he do to her? She trembled, felt faint; there was no telling to what lengths such a man infuriated at the cruelty and misery he had suffered, might go. She must find out more about it. The man to see was Carl Hackler, but how to approach him?
She meant to converse with him at any cost, and went out with that intention.