And then Seton sprang on me perhaps the greatest surprise of my life.
“Now I know your reason for wanting to see Mr. Graydon,” he said. “I may as well tell you he is here now.”
“Here!” I gasped excitedly, “do you mean he is staying here?”
“Yes, sir,” was the reply, “he’s in number eighteen. He came here yesterday quite unexpectedly.”
At last I had run Thelma’s mysterious husband to earth!
“He came in half-an-hour ago,” Seton went on, “and I gave him a letter which came for him by express messenger. I know he’s upstairs. If you would like to see him, I will send up.”
“No, thanks,” I said. “Under the circumstances I think I would prefer to go up unannounced if you have no objection.”
“Not in the least,” replied Seton. “Number Eighteen is on the second floor.”
So I eagerly ascended the wide, thickly-carpeted stairs. I had no very clear idea as to how I should approach the man I had known as Stanley Audley, but I was determined to demand an adequate explanation of why he had married Thelma under an assumed name and so cruelly deserted her, and, if necessary, to back my demand by a threat of legal proceedings.