“Yes, sir. Miss Sonia Poland.”
I bit my lip. Had she already dropped my name, and was now passing under an alias?
“Sonia Poland!” I echoed. “Was it for the purpose of concealing her identity from the foreigners, do you think?” I asked.
“No, sir. Because Winton and his companion addressed her as Sonia Poland when she arrived.”
“And you believed it to be her real name?”
“I suppose it is, sir,” was the man’s reply, for I fear my manner somewhat mystified him.
“Well, and what further did you see at this early morning consultation?” I asked, mindful that his curiosity had no doubt been aroused by sight of something sparkling in the strange visitor’s hand.
“The gentleman called Mr. Lewis wrote out a paper very carefully and handed it round. Every one signed it—except the lady. They asked her to do so, but she protested vigorously, and the matter was not pressed. Then the photograph of a man was shown to the two foreigners, and the lady tried to prevent it. Curiously enough, sir, I caught a good sight of it—just a head and shoulders—and the picture very much resembled you yourself, sir!”
“Me!” I cried. “And they showed it to the two young foreigners—eh?”
“Yes, sir. One of them took it and put it into his pocket. Then the mysterious Mr. Lewis, as chairman of the meeting, seemed to raise a protest. The two foreigners gesticulated, jabbered away, and raised their shoulders a lot. I dearly wish I could have made out a word they said. Unfortunately I couldn’t. Only I saw that in Mr. Lewis’s face was a look of fierce determination. They at first defied him. But at last, with great reluctance, they handed back the photograph, which Mr. Lewis himself burned on the fire.”