“But,” I said, “will you pardon me, Lolita, if I remark upon one most peculiar circumstance?”
She started visibly and held her breath, for the tragedy had never been mentioned between us, and it seemed as though she feared I would broach it.
“You will recollect,” I went on, “that when I met you early yesterday morning you were accompanied by a man who—”
“Ah, you saw him, then!” she gasped, interrupting me.
“I did. And moreover I met that same man in Mademoiselle’s company last night.”
“With her!” she cried. “Never! Why, he doesn’t know her.”
“I met them walking together on the Chelsea Embankment,” I persisted in a quiet tone, wondering the reason of her utter amazement.
“How? Where? Tell me all about it?” she urged quickly. “There’s mystery here.”
In obedience to her wish I explained the circumstances just as I have already recorded them; how I had first implored her to divulge her secret, and then in order to threaten her, had called the police, afterwards making a solemn compact with her and allowing them both to escape.
She heard me in silence to the end, nervously pulling her veil beneath her chin and twisting it to keep it tight. Then sighing, she remarked, turning her wonderful eyes upon me—