“And Madame Nur-el-Din?” queried Desmond innocently, but inwardly quaking at his rashness.
Mortimer genially shook a finger at him.
“Sly dog!” he chuckled, “you’re one too many for me in that quarter, I see! I know all about your tête-à-tête with our charming young friend this afternoon!”
Desmond felt the blood rush to his face. He thought of Nur-el-Din’s words: “Mortimer sees and knows all.” He picked up his sherry glass and drained it to cover his confusion.
“... It was hardly gallant of you to bolt so suddenly and leave the lady!” Mortimer added.
How much did this uncanny creature know?
Without waiting for him to reply, Mortimer went on.
“I suppose she told you a long story of my persecution, eh, Bellward? You needn’t shake your head. I taxed her with it and she admitted as much.”
“I had no idea that you were staying at the Dyke Inn!” said Desmond at a venture.
“My friend,” replied Mortimer, lowering his voice, “your fair charmer is showing a decided inclination to make a nuisance of herself. I have had to keep an eye on her. It’s been a very serious inconvenience to my plans, I can assure you. But you haven’t answered my question. What sent you away in such a hurry this afternoon? and in so romantic a fashion? By the window, was it not?”