"There's paper there, I think, sir," she said, indicating a small writing-table set near the window.
He seated himself, though his quick eyes took in all the surroundings.
Before he began to write, he saw in a broad silver frame before him a large photograph of his client, Mrs. Morrison.
"That's a beautiful portrait," he remarked to the girl.
"Yes, sir. Mistress had it done about three months ago. It's very good of her."
Charles Emery bit his lip and managed to stifle the ejaculation which rose to his lips.
The truth was out! It was Ena Pollen whom he had seen at Mrs. Braybourne's window, and Ena Pollen had, he saw, posed for insurance purposes as Mrs. Augusta Morrison—the rich widow of Carsphairn.
For a moment the discovery dumbfounded him. He scribbled a few lines. Then he tore them up, and, making excuse for troubling the maid, he rose and said he would call next day. Then he pressed into her hand a ten-shilling note.
But just before he took his leave, he turned to her in the hall, and asked suddenly:
"Oh, by the way, has Mrs. Morrison been here to visit your mistress lately?"