“I was just passing, don’t you know, and thought I’d look you up. We haven’t met for an age,” and taking out a silver case, he selected a cigarette and lit it.
“I think,” I said dryly, “it would have been better for me had we never met at all.”
He smiled sardonically, moved uneasily, and, turning towards me, exclaimed:
“My dear fellow, you entirely misjudge me. I was, I admit, unconsciously the cause of a rather grave catastrophe in your life; but surely that is all of the past. Why think more of one who is dead?”
“Then, at last, you do now admit that you enticed me to that house? Once you denied it.”
“I know,” he said, smiling. “From diplomatic motives I was compelled; nevertheless, no blame attaches to me, I assure you. This I shall prove to you before long, I hope.”
“Why not now?” I urged eagerly. “Why not tell me what you know of Sybil? That you were intimately acquainted with her is certain; and if you wish to assure me of your honesty of purpose, there can be no better way of doing so than explaining who and what she was.”
“Ah! unfortunately I am unable, at least for the present,” he said, watching his cigarette smoke curl towards the dark oak-beamed ceiling. “I may add, however, that, in return for your assistance in the little matter concerning Lady Fyneshade, I will before long render you a service of a character that will, perhaps, astonish you.”
“Then she has already seen you?” I exclaimed.
“She has,” he said, nodding. “And she has given me your note. It is for that I looked in to thank you.”