“And is she an enemy?”
“Most certainly,” he replied.
“I can’t believe it, Kaye!” I cried, aghast. “I won’t believe it! First you tell me that Yolande de Foville is a spy, and now you denounce Edith Austin.”
“I only tell you the truth,” he answered, leaning against the table and folding his arms.
“Then as you know so much about her, you probably know our relationship,” I said, rather annoyed that this ubiquitous man, whose proclivities for fathoming a secret were prodigious, should have watched her.
“I am quite well aware of it, Mr Ingram,” he responded; “and if I might be allowed to advise you, I should end it at once. It is dangerous.”
“Why?”
“Because she is playing you false.”
“How do you know that?”
“By the same means that I know she is working against us—and against you. If you knew the facts they would astound you. Even I, with all my experience of the ways of felons and spies, was dumbfounded when I learnt the truth.”