Miss Ryland brushed a whisk of straight hair back from her brow with a rough and ungraceful movement.
“My dear,” she began, taking a French telegraphic form from her pocket, “you see this message? It's one which reached me at an unearthly hour this morning from Harry Leroux. It was addressed to his wife at my studio; therefore, as her friend, I opened it. Mira Leroux has actually visited me there twice since her marriage—”
“Twice!” Helen rose slowly to her feet, with horrified eyes fixed upon the speaker.
“Twice I said! I have not seen her, and have rarely heard from her, for nearly twelve months, now! Therefore I packed up post-haste and here I am! I came to you, because, from what little I have heard of you, and of your father, I judged you to be the right kind of friends to consult.”...
“You have not seen her for twelve months?”
Helen's voice was almost inaudible, and she was trembling dreadfully.
“That's a fact, my dear. And now, what are we going to tell Harry Leroux?”
It was a question, the answer to which was by no means evident at a glance; and leaving Helen Cumberly face to face with this new and horrible truth which had brought Denise Ryland hotfoot from Paris to London, let us glance, for a moment, into the now familiar room of Detective-Inspector Dunbar at Scotland Yard.
He had returned from his interrogation of Brian; and he received the report of Sowerby, respecting the late Mrs. Vernon's maid. The girl, Sergeant Sowerby declared, was innocent of complicity, and could only depose to the fact that her late mistress took very little luggage with her on the occasions of her trips to Scotland. With his notebook open before him upon the table, Dunbar was adding this slight item to his notes upon the case, when the door opened, and the uniformed constable entered, saluted, and placed an envelope in the Inspector's hand.
“From the commissioner!” said Sowerby, significantly.