“She won’t know my name. Just say a Mr Johnson from London wishes to see her on urgent private business.”
As he waited in the hall, he wondered whether she would refuse to see him? Well, if she did, it only meant delay. He would stay on at Weymouth till his business was done.
The maid interrupted his reflections by calling over the banisters, “Will you come up, please?”
The next moment, he was bowing to Lady Wrenwyck, who was seated in an easy-chair, a book, which she had just laid down, on her lap. She was a very beautiful woman still, and although she sat in a strong light, did not look over thirty-five.
She received him a little haughtily. “I do not remember to have seen you before. What is your business with me?”
Johnson fired his first shot boldly. “I believe I have the honour of addressing Lady Wrenwyck?”
Her face went a shade paler. “I do not deny it. Please explain your object in seeking me out. Will you sit down?”
The detective took a chair. “You have no doubt, madam, heard of the mysterious disappearance of an old friend of yours, Mr Monkton.”
He had expected to see her start, or show some signs of embarrassment. She did nothing of the kind. Her voice, as she answered him, was quite calm.
“I have heard something of it—some wild rumour. I am sorry for his daughter and his friends, for himself, if anything terrible has happened. But why do you come to me about this?”