Eventually she wrote, enclosing the amount required, and requesting Mrs. Hoffman's address.
Felix was delighted at the success of his scheme, and sent the same address he had given before.
"My mother lives with me," he wrote, "and Mrs. Warren is in the house. She is nearly always at home; but if you call and she happens to be out, my mother will attend to you. Ask to see Mrs. Warren."
"Living in the same house," thought Irene, "then it must be true. Oh, how miserable I am."
She made arrangements to go to London, taking her maid with her, and requesting Mrs. Dixon to inform Mr. Maynard of her departure. "Tell him I shall stay at the Walton with Warren, and that we shall probably remain until after Epsom week."
She had no idea whether Warren was at the Walton, or otherwise, because he always wrote from his club. She thought of the scented paper on which he had once written, and her heart sank.
Mary Marley, her maid, was surprised, but delighted at the prospect of a visit to London, for it was some time since she had been there.
Irene was silent during the journey, and went to bed early after dinner. Her maid was surprised her master was not there, but she made no remark. She knew her place. Next day Irene went out alone. She drove to Waterloo and booked to Feltham. Arriving at the station, she asked for Mrs. Hoffman at the address given. The porter directed her, and looked at her admiringly as she left the station, as it was seldom he saw such a stylishly dressed lady, and wondered who she could be.
Irene's heart beat painfully fast as she walked slowly along the road. The house was not far from the station the porter told her, and she dreaded reaching it. She felt half inclined to turn back. Perhaps it was some cunning trap laid for her by this man. She had read of the mysterious disappearances of women, and the prospect was not pleasant. She did not lack courage, and as she had come so far she would not turn back.
She reached the house, opened the gate, and rang the bell. Mrs. Hoffman opened the door.