“Alas! no. They died when I was quite young. All I know about them is that they lived somewhere in Norfolk, and that my father was ruined by speculation just before his death. I was fourteen when the good woman who brought me up died, and my Aunt Lewis sent me to school. Then on her death, quite recently, Mr. Purvis became my guardian.”
“But who and what is this man Purvis?” I asked. “I know you are unhappy. Confide in me everything. I give you my bond of secrecy,” I said earnestly.
“I knew nothing of his existence until a few weeks ago, when Aunt Lewis died and Mr. Purvis came forward and promised to look after me. I had taken up typewriting and obtained a clerkship in a City office, which I held until I resigned a fortnight ago to come down here.”
“At Purvis’s suggestion?”
“Yes, because I am acquainted with the district.”
“Then you lived alone in Bayswater?” I suggested.
“Yes. I have never lived under the same roof with Purvis, except here at Page’s, because I—I hate him.”
“Why?”
Her pale, quivering lips compressed, but no word escaped them.
I knew the truth. The man was implicated in the assassination of her lover, if not the actual murderer. Therefore she held him in loathing.