The question was one—and only one.
Had this man, brother of his own dear Marion, sworn falsely upon what he had held to be most sacred—his love for Maud?
What was the real and actual truth?
Chapter Twenty Seven.
In the Web.
It was four o’clock on the following afternoon, dark and threatening outside, precursory of a thunderstorm.
In that chair in Max’s room, where Charlie Rolfe had sat on the previous morning, was the polished cosmopolitan, Jean Adam, lazily lolling back, smoking a cigarette.
Max had lunched over at White’s, and just come in to find Adam awaiting him. The Frenchman had risen and greeted him merrily, took the proffered Russian cigarette, and they; had settled themselves to chat.