“There is often a woman in cases like this,” she began reluctantly.
Mr. Jeekes looked extremely uncomfortable.
“Miss Trevert,” he said, “I beg you will not press me on that score....”
“Why?” asked the girl bluntly.
“Because ... because”—Mr. Jeekes stumbled sadly over his words—“because, dear me, there are some things which really I couldn’t possibly discuss ... if you’ll excuse me....”
“Oh, but you can discuss everything, Mr. Jeekes,” replied Mary Trevert composedly. “I am not a child, you know. I am perfectly well aware that there’s a woman somewhere in the life of every man, very often two or three. I haven’t got any illusions on the subject, I assure you. I never supposed for a moment that I was the first woman in Mr. Parrish’s life....”
This candour seemed to administer a knock-out blow to the little secretary’s Victorian mind. He was speechless. He took off his pince-nez, blindly polished them with his pocket-handkerchief and replaced them upon his nose. His fingers trembled violently.
“I have no wish to appear vulgarly curious,” the girl went on,—Mr. Jeekes made a quick gesture of dissent,—“but I am anxious to know whether Mr. Parrish was being blackmailed ... or anything like that....”
“Oh, no, Miss Trevert, I do assure you,” the little man expostulated in hasty denial, “nothing like that, I am convinced. At least, that is to say ...”
He rose to his feet, clutching the little attaché case which he invariably carried with him as a kind of emblem of office.