Indeed she did not realize how adroitly the old solicitor had evaded that question until she was too far away to return and put it afresh, even if that had seemed worth while; for her attention was occupied by the other issue that he had so artfully raised. She had overlooked the presumable existence of the second transposed letter, the one that should have been in Mr. Penfield’s envelope. It ought to have been returned at once. Possibly it was even now waiting at Sennen to be forwarded. If it arrived, it would probably disclose the identity of the mysterious correspondent. On the other hand it might not; and if it were not returned at all, that would confirm the suspicion that there was something gravely wrong. And it was at this point that Margaret became conscious of Mr. Penfield’s last evasion.
Its effect was to confirm the generally disagreeable impression that she had received from the interview. She was a little resentful of the lawyer’s elaborate reticence, which, coupled with the strange precautionary terms of his letter to her, convinced her that her husband had embarked on some questionable transaction and that Mr. Penfield knew it and knew the nature of that transaction. His instant rejection of the suggestion that an accident might have occurred and that the police might be notified seemed to imply that he had some inkling of Purcell’s proceedings, and his final evasion of her question strongly suggested that the letter, or the enclosures, or both, contained some clue to the disappearance.
Thus, as she took her way home, Margaret turned over again and again the puzzling elements of the mystery; and at each reshuffling of the scanty facts the same conclusion emerged; her husband had absconded and he had not absconded alone. The secret that Mr. Penfield was guarding was such a secret as might, if divulged, have pointed the way to the Divorce Court. And with this conclusion and a frown of disgust, she turned into the entry of her flat and ascended the stairs.
As she let herself in, the maid met her in the hall.
“Mr. Varney is in the drawing-room, ma’am,” she said. “He came about ten minutes ago. I am getting tea for him.”
“Thank you, Nellie,” said Margaret, “and you might get me some, too.” She passed on to her bedroom for a hasty wash and change and then joined her visitor in time to pour out the tea.
“How good of you, Mr. Varney,” she said warmly as they shook hands, “to come to me so quickly. You must have only just arrived.”
“Yes,” he replied, “I came straight on from the station. I thought you would be anxious to know if I had heard anything.”
“And have you?”
“Well,” Varney replied, hesitatingly, “I’m rather afraid not. I seem to have drawn a blank.”