“When did she leave?”
“A week ago. She and the gentleman and the two maids went away together. I believe they’ve gone to their country place.”
“The gentleman! Who’s he?” asked Hugh in surprise.
“Why, madame’s husband, I suppose. But there—I don’t know anything about people’s business in this place. Got enough to do to look after my own,” he added, with a sardonic grin.
“What sort of man is this gentleman?” inquired Trethowen excitedly.
“Find out,” replied the man in uniform arrogantly. “I don’t want any of your cross-examination. She’s gone away, and that’s enough for you.”
Then he turned and ascended the stairs to the next floor, leaving Hugh disconcerted and perplexed.
The gentleman! Madame’s husband! Could it be that Valérie had already forgotten him? It was clearly useless to remain there, so he quickly resolved to go to Egerton, seek what information he could afford, and endeavour to obtain an explanation of the terrible allegations made by Bérard.
With this object he descended into the street, and with hastening steps pursued his way to Chelsea.
The artist was sitting alone before the studio fire, lazily smoking, and reading a novel, when Mrs O’Shea opened the door for Hugh to enter.