I don't know why—he said it quite naturally—but it suddenly flashed across my mind that under this apparently innocent question there lurked a considerable amount of meaning. Could it be possible, I reflected rapidly, that he knew something about Mercia's midnight visit? It seemed wildly unlikely, but I made up my mind to test him.
"Yes," I said coolly. "I had rather a curious experience last night."
I was watching him as I spoke, and I could have sworn I noticed a slight tightening of the muscles in his face.
"Really?" he drawled. "What was that?"
I laughed lightly. "On second thoughts," I said, "perhaps I ought to keep it to myself for the present."
If he was really disappointed, he concealed it admirably. "That's just like you," he said, with a yawn; "you're always so confoundedly mysterious. I suppose it's the result of living under a wrong name."
This was news indeed, but I flatter myself I received it with admirable composure.
"I expect it is," I answered, selecting another cigar in place of the one I had discarded.
There was a brief pause in the conversation.
"Well, what about coming down to Ashton?" said Maurice, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair.