"They could have come from no one else."
"And you think she murdered Seligmann to get them?"
"I am not to be trapped into admitting anything of the sort."
"As you will, Mr. Marsh. For my part, I expect this affair will open Miss Wickham's eyes to your—your true worth."
And Quarles took up his hat and walked out of the room. I followed him. In the street he took off his glasses and put them in his pocket. They were the same he had worn that morning—a pair he did not often use.
"The Honorable Percival Marsh is a worm," he remarked.
"Now for Miss Wickham," said I.
"There is no necessity to see her," said Quarles. "I dare say it is true what this worm says. She went to offer her talent cheap to Seligmann on condition that he would give her the papers. I can guess what happened. They talked over the bargain, but Seligmann refused to do what she wanted, and was able, probably, to show her that Marsh was a worthless scoundrel. Unless something of this sort had happened she would have written to Marsh to tell him she had been unsuccessful. I have little doubt Seligmann treated her in a fatherly manner, and then let her out through the garden, perhaps because he found the light in the hall was out. He returned to find—I am not sure yet what it was he found in his study, but nothing to alarm him, I am sure. To-morrow we will go to Maidenhead, Wigan, and see what servants are at the cottage."
At noon next day we were in Maidenhead.
There was a yard and coach house somewhat removed from the house, and a chauffeur was cleaning a car. In the corner of the yard lay a large dog of the boar-hound type, but I have never seen one quite like it before.