“Well,” he said, hesitatingly, “shall we say his sudden departure was rather suspicious? To put it plainly the excuse was a bit thin. Would any firm let an employee start on a honeymoon and three days later find he was the man for an important appointment such as Audley spoke of? Of course, such a thing might happen, but a more probable excuse would have carried more conviction. To me it suggested a story made up suddenly, in default if anything better, to explain a departure forced upon him by some much less welcome reason. However, I had no reason for saying this at the time and, after all, I might have been wrong. But as things have turned out it seems I was right and I am very sorry for his wife. After all, whatever her husband may be, she is a charming girl—much too good for him, anyhow. But go on, tell me what you have found out.”
I frankly told him, and as he smoked he sat back listening thoughtfully without a word of comment.
At last, when I had concluded, he asked—
“Have you seen Harold Ruthen?”
“Not yet. He is an enemy of Thelma’s.”
“What makes you think that?” he asked, whereupon I told him of the curious conversation I had overheard.
He bit his lip and smiled mysteriously, but said nothing. It was, however, plain that what I had described greatly interested him.
“And little Mrs. Audley will tell you nothing—eh? She refuses. She is evidently hiding some secret of her husband’s. Don’t you think so?”
“To me, she seems in deadly fear lest I should discover her husband.”
“Oh! I quite agree, Yelverton,” the old man said. “There’s more behind this curious affair than we’ve hitherto suspected. A man doesn’t leave his young wife in the hands of a stranger without some strong and very doubtful motive. Depend upon it that you were marked down as the victim.”