“Lolita went forth to meet him, that I know,” I said.
“Yes,” he remarked. “That was proved by the marks of her heels at the spot where the body was found. She must therefore have met him.”
“If so, then she must know the truth, Mr Keene,” I said in a hard voice, watching his dark face. “What I want to discover is the reason he came here in secret that night.”
He paused a moment his eyes fixed upon me, as though he were debating within himself whether he should betray my love’s secret. Then at length he said—
“You mentioned, I think, to Lady Lolita that you had secured from the dead man’s pocket a scrap of paper bearing a message in cipher—did you not?”
“Yes,” I exclaimed eagerly. “It is the checker-board cipher, I know, but I am unable to read it because I am ignorant of the keyword.”
“If you really desire to decipher it, and think it will help you to a knowledge of the real facts, why not try the single and very unusual word—her own name!”
“Lolita!” I gasped quickly in eagerness. “Then the keyword is Lolita!”
To which he made no response, but nodded gravely in the affirmative.
Then, without further ado, I rushed back to my room took out the folded scrap of paper that had brought Hugh Wingfield to his doom, and spread it before me together with the checker-board.