“Can you get back tonight, Mr. Yelverton?”
“No,” I replied, “I sent my bag to the Sackville. But now tell me, have you heard anything else regarding Stanley?”
She gazed at me through the haze of her cigarette smoke, and, after a pause, replied—
“No, I’ve heard nothing.”
“But, now, do be frank with me, Thelma. What am I to think? This affair is growing serious, and I know you are worried more even than I am.”
“Mr. Yelverton, I’m absolutely bewildered. All I hear or find out only increases the mystery. But I tell you quite plainly that I begin to think—more and more—”
“What?” I asked, placing my hand upon her shoulder.
“I—I really can hardly believe it—but from what I have been told, I think Stanley is dead!”
“Who told you that?” I demanded, for it crossed my mind that Feng had done no less—that that was the reason for his visit. And yet as I watched her I saw no signs of distress. Was she merely repeating something she had been told to say. Did she, in fact, hold the key to the mystery?
“What proof have you?” I asked quickly, as she had not replied to my question.