Then I related how I had seen her, and how her evil influence had fallen upon me when afterwards I had entered my room.
“The thing is actually beyond belief,” she declared. “Do you really think you were not mistaken?”
“Most assuredly I was not. It was the woman who called upon you in London. But you have not told me the reason you were absent from your room that night.” She was silent for a few moments, then answered, “I met Tattersett. He demanded that I should meet him, as he wished to speak with me secretly. I did so.”
“Why did he wish to see you?”
“In order to prove to me that he had no hand in the tragic affair at Whitton. I had suspected all along that he was responsible for the Colonel’s death, and my opinion has not altered. I begged him to tell me the reason of the plot against me, the motive of my marriage, and the identity of my husband. But he refused point-blank, telling me to ask La Gioia, who knew everything.”
“Have you no idea of her whereabouts?”
“None whatever.”
“If we could but find her,” I said, “she might tell us something. Ah! if we could but find her.”
My love was trembling. Her heart was filled to overflowing with the mystery of it all. Yet I knew that she loved me—yes, she loved me.
How long we lingered there upon the terrace I know not, but it was late ere we re-entered the drawing-room. Who among those assembled guests would have dreamt the truth—we were man and wife!