She gave vent to a short dry laugh.
"Really, Mr. Royle," she exclaimed, "you put to me the most difficult riddles. How can I possibly suspect anyone of a crime of which I know nothing, and of which even the papers appear to be in ignorance?"
"But you are not in ignorance," I said. "How, pray, did you learn that a tragedy had occurred?"
"Ah!" she laughed. "That is my secret. You were very careful not to tell me the true cause of poor Digby's flight. Yes, Mr. Royle, I congratulate you upon your ingenuity in protecting the honour of your friend. Rest assured he will not forget the great services you have already rendered him."
"I look for no reward. He was my friend," was my reply.
"Then, if he was your friend and you are still his, heed my warning concerning Phrida Shand."
"But tell me what you know?" I cried, clutching her arm as we walked together. "You don't understand that you are making allegations—terrible allegations—against the woman I love dearest in all the world. You have made an assertion, and I demand that you shall substantiate it," I added in frantic anxiety.
She shook off my hand angrily, declaring that nothing more need be said, and adding that if I refused to heed her, then the peril would be mine.
"But you shall not leave me until you have furnished me with proof of these perfidious actions of my love!" I declared vehemently.
"Mr. Royle, we really cannot use high words in the public street," she replied in a low tone of reproof. "I am sorry that I am not permitted to say more."