“You?” she gasped, steadying herself by clutching at the handle of the door, and gazing fixedly at Sybil. Then, turning her haggard eyes upon Grindlay, she said half reproachfully:
“You have come for him!”
The Inspector, standing by the window, advanced a few steps, and bowing answered:
“It is unfortunately my painful duty, my lady.”
“Ah! I knew it—I knew it!” she wailed, with a wild passion, bursting again into a torrent of hot tears. “He arrived here at ten o’clock this morning—and—and—”
“Did he leave again?” Grindlay quickly asked.
“No,” she replied, in a harsh discordant tone, her pallor becoming more apparent. “He is still here. He came home, and without seeing me went to his room. My maid—my maid told me that he—”
She had almost become calm, but the marks of a storm of agitation were very palpable in her pale countenance and her disordered dress. She paused, her words seemed to choke her, and she started with a cold shudder, as if some unseen hand had touched her. Then with a fierce effort she drew herself up and continued:
“My maid, whom I sent to him asking him to see me, returned with a message that he was busy, and when I went to his room a few minutes later I found he had again gone out.”
For an instant she paused, then as if a sudden wild impulse seized her she rushed across the room and threw open wide the door leading to an adjoining apartment.