A faint smile overspread her pale, refined features. That was all, but it told its own tale.
“Well,” I said, “the burglars, whoever they were, were experts, and only the electric alarm prevented the theft. What the ancient cylinder really contains I cannot imagine. Indeed, I am filled with anxiety and impatience for the dawn of November the third, when, without doubt, I shall learn the truth.”
“Yes, no doubt,” she said in a slow, tremulous tone. “And the truth will surely be a stranger one than you have ever dreamed.”
Our tête-à-tête was suddenly interrupted by a woman entering the lounge; therefore, as Asta had her hat and coat with her, I suggested that we should walk down to the beach, an idea which she readily adopted.
Then, when there was no one to overhear, I told her of my adventure in the night, of Tramu’s inquiries in the neighbourhood of Ridgehill Manor, and of his surveillance of the movements of Mrs Olliffe and her father.
“Tramu!” she gasped, her face white as death. “Then he has found poor Dad! Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Because I had no wish to alarm you unduly, Miss Seymour,” I said very quietly.
“But Dad may be arrested!” she cried. “Ah! how fatal to associate again with that accursed woman.”
“She is certainly no friend of yours.”
“But she makes great pretence of friendship. I have often been her guest.”