"Well?" I asked, in quick apprehension; "what is it?"
"We have received from an anonymous correspondent—who turns out to be the woman Petre, whom you know—a letter making the gravest accusations against Miss Shand. She denounces her as the assassin of the girl Marie Bracq."
"It's a lie! a foul, abominable lie!" I cried angrily. "I told you that she would seek to condemn the woman I love."
"Yes, I recollect. But it is a clue which I am in duty bound to investigate."
"You have not been to Miss Shand—you have not yet questioned her?" I gasped anxiously.
"Not before I saw you," he replied. "I may as well tell you at once that I had some slight suspicion that the young lady in question was acquainted with your friend who posed as Sir Digby."
"How?" I asked.
He hesitated. "Well, I thought it most likely that as you and he were such great friends, you might have introduced them," he said, rather lamely.
"But surely you are not going to believe the words of this woman Petre?" I cried. "Listen, and I will tell you how she has already endeavoured to take my life, and thus leave Miss Shand at her mercy."
Then, as he sat listening, his feet stretched towards the fender, I related in detail the startling adventure which befel me at Colchester.