“Ysola,” said Colin Camber, inclining his head toward me in a grave gesture of courtesy, “Mr. Knox has generously forgiven me a breach of good manners for which I shall never forgive myself. I beg you to thank him, as I have done.”
“It is so good of you,” she said, sweetly, and held out her hand. “But I knew you would understand that it was just a great mistake.”
“Mr. Paul Harley,” Camber continued, “my wife welcomes you; and this, Ysola, is Inspector Aylesbury, who desires a few moments’ conversation upon a rather painful matter.”
“I have heard, I have heard,” she whispered. “Ah Tsong has told me.”
The pupils of her eyes dilated, as she fixed an appealing glance upon the Inspector.
In justice to the latter he was palpably abashed by the delicate beauty of the girl who stood before him, by her naivete, and by that childishness of appearance and manner which must have awakened the latent chivalry in almost any man’s heart.
“I am sorry to have to trouble you with this disagreeable business, Mrs. Camber,” he began; “but I believe you were awakened last night by the sound of a shot.”
“Yes,” she replied, watching him intently, “that is so.”
“May I ask at what time this was heard?”
“Ah Tsong told me it was after twelve o’clock.”