With that I shook her hand, and accompanied by Ash, walked out and left the house.
As we drove back down the Hampstead Road I turned to the valet and said—
“Do you remember whether a tall, dark, shabby-genteel man in a frock-coat and tall hat—a man with a thin, consumptive-looking face—ever called upon your master?”
I was thinking of Aline’s companion, and of their remarkable conversation. At that moment it occurred to me that it might be of Roddy they had spoken, and not of myself. Did he urge her to kill my friend? Ash reflected deeply.
“I don’t remember any man answering that description,” he responded. “After he became a Member of Parliament one or two strange people from his constituency called to see him, but I don’t recollect anybody like the man you describe. How old was he?”
“About forty; or perhaps a trifle over.”
The man shook his head. “No,” he declared, “I don’t think he ever called.”
“When your master sent you out with the note that morning had you any suspicion that he meant to receive a secret visitor? Now, don’t conceal anything from me. Together we must fathom this mystery.” He hesitated, then turning to me, answered—
“Well, to tell the truth, sir, I did.”
“What caused you to suspect?”