“How long have you been here?” I asked suddenly, thinking it best to change the subject for the moment.
“Since early this morning,” she answered at once.
“Did you come here alone?”
“Alone? No, he brought me.”
”‘He?’ Who is ‘he’?”
“Dago Paulton.”
“Dago Paulton?” I echoed. “Is he the man Smithson?” I asked shrewdly.
“Of course. Who else did you suppose?” Then, suddenly, her expression changed to one of surprise.
“But you don’t know him, surely,” she exclaimed. “You have never even met him. He told me so himself.”
“No, but I know about him,” I said, with recollection crowding upon me.