“It seems incredible that the missing husband and his wife should call upon Feng,” he said. “How do you know this, Yelverton? I am much interested—so tell me. The whole affair has certainly been amazing. You say they saw Feng a few days ago?”
“Yes, at his house at Castlenau,” I said. “But I thought the Doctor would certainly tell you, as you and he are such friends.”
“He’s told me nothing. I saw him only two days ago and we spoke of you. He was going to Paris. He declared the whole affair to be a romantic mystery—and the unfortunate feature of it was—well, that you had fallen in love with Audley’s wife.”
“I believed that Audley was dead,” I said, in haste to excuse myself.
The old man stroked his scraggy beard with his thin hand, and smiled.
“Ah! my dear Yelverton, you’re young yet,” he said. “Nobody will blame you. She’s uncommonly good-looking, and in her distress you, no doubt, pitied her and then the usual thing happened. It always does. She was alone and unprotected, and you stood as her champion—eh?”
I only laughed. I suppose his words accurately described the situation. But I could see that what I had told him concerning this visit of the missing man to Feng had somehow disturbed him deeply. Indeed, his very countenance had changed. He was no longer the well-preserved, hale and hearty old man he usually looked. He had suddenly become pale and wan, and he questioned me, with obvious anxiety, as to how I had gained knowledge of what I alleged.
Quite frankly I repeated almost word for word what I have already told concerning my visit to Castlenau and what old Mrs. Martin, the Cockney housekeeper, had revealed to me.
Humphreys only frowned, grunted in dissatisfaction and remarked:
“I can’t think that Feng would have seen the missing young fellow and say nothing to me.”