“Then he often goes abroad?”
“Yes, sir; very often. He has some business, I think, which takes him away travelling, and he leaves this shop in charge of my married sister and myself. He’s not married, as I dare say you know.”
“He’s seldom here, then?” I remarked, gratified at all this information.
“He lives out at Acton, and only comes here occasionally.”
“You know his brother, of course?” I asked, after I had purchased some cigarettes.
“You mean Mr Antonio? Oh, yes; he’s been here once or twice—for letters he has addressed here.”
“In another name—eh?” I laughed lightly.
“Yes, they’re letters in a lady’s hand, so perhaps we’d better not be too inquisitive,” laughed the girl. And then, after some further conversation, I told her I would call again in a week’s time to ascertain if she knew her employer’s whereabouts, and, re-entering the car, drove back to Chiswick, my mind clouded by many anxious apprehensions.
The outlook was every moment growing darker and more perplexing.