I had given my answer quite casually, but its effect was so startling that for a moment I stood there petrified with astonishment. Every vestige of colour had fled from my companion's face, and she was staring at me with an expression of incredulous horror.
"Good heavens!" I exclaimed involuntarily. "What is it? What's the matter?"
By a tremendous effort of will she managed to pull herself together.
"It's nothing," she answered, with amazing coolness. "I—I once knew somebody of that name, but it couldn't possibly have been the same person."
"I don't know," I said slowly; "there can't be very many Richard Jannaways in the world." Then I paused. "My uncle spent most of his life in South America," I added deliberately.
I saw her hand tighten on the railing that she was holding until the knuckles stood out white and distinct under the skin.
"South America?" she repeated in a low whisper.
The same panic-stricken look had come back into her face, as though the two words confirmed all the strange dread which the first mention of my uncle's name had suddenly aroused.
I came a step nearer to her. "For God's sake tell me what's the matter," I said again. "If there's anything in the world——"
I was interrupted by the noise of the breakfast gong, which came booming up from below in a loud, insistent clamour.