“She is at Mr Sandys’.”
“At Mr Sandys’?” gasped his father. “You are surely mistaken! Freda Crisp would never have the entrée there?”
“But she has, father! I saw her go in—with an elderly man whose name is Bertram Harrison.”
“I’ve never heard of him. But are you quite certain of this, Roddy? Are you positive that the woman is actually on friendly terms with Mr Sandys?”
Then Roddy explained to his father exactly what had occurred, and how he had obtained the name of the handsome guest.
“Well—what you tell me, my boy, utterly staggers me?” the old man admitted. “I never dreamed that the woman knew Purcell Sandys. I told you to beware of her, and I repeat my warning. She is a woman whose eyes are as fascinating as those of a snake, and whose hand-shake is as fatal as a poisoned dart.”
“Really, dad, you don’t seem to like her, eh?”
“No, my boy, I don’t. I have cause—good cause, alas! to hold her in abhorrence—as your enemy and mine!”
“But why? I can’t understand you. You’ve never spoken of her till the other day.”
“Because I—well, the secret is mine, Roddy.”