“There is an explanation of that,” he declared; “one that you will probably be told very shortly. Fortunately, the poor girl was not dead, though I confess I was entirely deceived by the symptoms. You will remember that the mirror remained unclouded by her breath?”
“I remember every incident, alas! only too vividly,” was my slow, distinct reply. “But,” I asked very pointedly, “pray tell me, Mr Kirk, what was your object in calling upon me and inducing me to go to Sussex Place?”
He thrust his hands into his trousers pockets and smiled.
“An ulterior one—as you may imagine. But one which was as much in your interests as in ours.”
“Ours!” I echoed. “You mean you and your accomplices?”
“Call them so, if you wish,” he laughed. “I, unfortunately, am not in a position to enlighten you upon the actual reason I invoked your aid.”
“And your action has only brought upon me a great misfortune—bitter despair, and the loss of the woman I loved!” I cried, dismayed.
“Ah!” he said. “You judge me a little too hastily, Mr Holford. It is your failing, Mr Holford, that you are given to rushing to premature conclusions. That is always fatal in any delicate negotiation. When you’ve had my experience—that of a traveller and thorough-going cosmopolitan—you will learn how to repress your own opinions until they are fully and entirely corroborated.”
I looked into the grey face of the clever adventurer, and there saw craft, cunning, and an ingenuity that was superhuman. A look was in his eyes such as I had never before seen in those of any human being.
“But I am in search of my wife!” I cried frantically. “I am in no mood to hear this philosophy of yours.”