“Bear in mind, Mr. Carter, that it would have been dictated to the girl with whom he is said to have eloped,” put in Mr. Strickland suggestively.
“Admitting that, even, he would have been much more likely to have written so personal and private a letter,” Nick replied. “Who is his stenographer?”
“Her name is Pauline Perrot,” said Mina.
“A French girl?”
“Of French extraction, I think.”
“You have seen her?”
“Yes. She has been out here twice in the past ten days with Mr. Gordon. She boards in Fordham, through which he passes when coming out here with his touring car. He has, for that reason, frequently taken her home from his office when on his way here.”
“Is she a very attractive girl?” Nick inquired.
“I don’t think so,” said Mina, with brows knitting. “She is tall and dark, with black hair, and eyes that frighten me. I tremble when she looks at me. She fills me with awe, and—— Oh, Mr. Carter, I have felt sure there was something wrong, some calamity coming, though I could not imagine what. A cloud has been hanging over me ever since I first saw Pauline Perrot.”
“How long has she been in Gordon’s employ?”