“Well, Charles? So you’ve discovered me here, eh?” she exclaimed, jumping up and taking his hand.
“Yes, Molly. And you seem to have very comfortable quarters,” laughed Benton as he threw himself unceremoniously into a chintz-covered armchair.
“They are, I assure you.”
“And I suppose you’re quite a great lady in these parts—eh?—now that you live at Shapley Manor. Where’s Louise?”
“She went up to town this morning. She won’t be back till after dinner. She’s with her old school-fellow—that girl Bertha Trench.”
“Good. Then we can have a chat. I’ve several things to consult you about and ask your opinion.”
“Have some tea first,” urged his good-looking hostess, pouring him some into a Crown Derby cup.
“Well,” he commenced. “I think you’ve done quite well to take this place, as you’ve done, for three years. You are now safely out of the way. The Paris Surete are making very diligent inquiries, but the Surrey Constabulary will never identify you with the lady of the Rue Racine. So you are quite safe here.”
“Are you sure of that, Charles?” she asked, fixing her big grey eyes upon him.
“Certain. It was the wisest course to get back here to England, although you had to take a very round-about journey.”