“Thank you, sir,” she said, taking a deep drink.
“And you won’t tell anyone. You must keep absolutely silent. I shall not tell unless I find it necessary. Now, mind, not a word. You will do infinite harm if you do.”
The effect of the strong drink had made her maudlin, and she sank weeping on a chair.
“Oh, what would Miss Mabel say?” she said between her sobs.
Collins gave one look at her, and then left the room. He had got the information he wanted.
Chapter VIII.
Enter Mr. Allery
After the inquest there was nothing to keep Miss Watson in London. A sad cortège started from Leveson Square after dark, for, in the circumstances, they had no wish for public display.
The body of the dead statesman was being taken to Devonshire for burial. In all the arrangements Collins had played an important but unobtrusive part, and now, on the departure platform, he had quietly seen to her comfort in the little ways a woman appreciates.
Papers were ready, seats booked at the dining table, and the carriage reserved by a well-tipped guard.
Eric Sanders had already gone on, as it was necessary to go through all the dead man’s papers, and, as private secretary, he was assisting the police in this matter.