“That’s a good photograph of Mr. De Gex, isn’t it, sir?”
“Excellent,” I said, for it was a really fine portrait. “Does your mistress come over from Italy often?”
“Oh, yes, and she brings the little boy over with her. She is frequently here, while her husband stays at Fiesole. I send on his correspondence every day to Mr. Henderson, his secretary.”
I stood gazing around the room. Upon that bed the beautiful girl lay dead, and I had certified the cause of her death! Yet I had, later on, been the victim of some devil’s trick of which I knew nothing.
I was there to investigate. Yet though I questioned the caretaker very closely, I confess that I met with little success. He was an old and trusted servant of the family. Hence to many of my inquiries he remained dumb.
“When do you expect your master back?” I asked at last.
“Oh, not for another six months or so.”
“Where is Mrs. De Gex?”
“Ah! That I can’t quite make out,” he replied. “It’s a bit of a mystery. One night she went away quite unexpectedly and, as a matter of fact, nobody knows where she is. Her husband doesn’t know—or pretends he doesn’t,” he said with a knowing grin.