'Reggie, can I speak to you in private?'
'Certainly. But--aren't we in private here?'
'This isn't the sort of privacy I mean.'
The young gentleman seemed to hesitate.
'What is it you wish to say to me?'
'When we're alone I'll tell you.'
'I'll see you alone directly. But before I do so there are one or two things which I should like you to explain, in the presence of this lady.'
'As, for instance?'
'How the late Marquis of Twickenham came to die from heart disease.'
The answer came from the door. There, sure enough, with a gentleman at his side, was Mr. FitzHoward. Never had I seen him when he'd seemed more at his ease. I hadn't thought that it was in him. I know that I'd felt a coward ever since I'd put my foot across the doorstep. He came right forward into the room, without waiting for any one to invite him, as bold and confident as you please. As for Mr. Howarth's black looks--and he gave him some, and somehow there they seemed more hard to meet than they'd been in my home--they never frightened him one little bit.