The suggestion seemed to confirm my suspicion that she knew her husband’s whereabouts, and felt it useless to await any longer for him.
“My time is growing short, too,” I said. “I fear I must be back at my office on Monday. My partner writes that he is very busy.”
“Then you will go on Saturday—the day after tomorrow, I suppose? If so—may I travel with you?”
“Certainly,” I said. And as she had not booked a sleeping-berth on the Interlaken-Boulogne express, I promised that I would see after it during the afternoon.
Later that day I found that Audley had left her with only about a hundred francs, and she was compelled to allow me to settle her hotel bill.
As we came up into the hall after dinner the concierge handed Thelma a note, saying—“Mr. Ruthen has left, miss, and he asked me to give you this!”
She held it in her hand for a second, and then, after glancing at me, moved away and tore it open.
The words she read had an extraordinary effect upon her. Her face went as white as the paper, and she held her breath, her eyes staring straight before her. Then she crushed the flimsy paper in her hand.
She reeled against a small table, and would have fallen had she not, with a supreme effort, recovered herself, and quickly stood erect again.
“Forgive me, Mr. Yelverton,” she managed to ejaculate. “I’m not feeling very well. Excuse me, I—I’ll go to my room!”