She took out the file of papers with trembling hand and bent to examine them in the light.
She saw there were newspaper cuttings, and long reports both in writing and typed—reports signed by persons of whom she had no knowledge.
In one paper at which she glanced Dick was referred to as “The Honourable Richard Davies Harborne, late of His Britannic Majesty’s Secret Service.”
She read eagerly, hoping to discover something to throw light upon the poor fellow’s sad end, but the writing was small, cramped, and difficult for her to decipher.
Yet, so deeply interested did she become that she did not hear the door open.
Suddenly she heard a footstep behind her, and, starting quickly, turned to find his lordship’s mysterious visitor standing facing her with a look of severe inquiry upon his grey, furrowed countenance.
“Oh! I—I—I’m so very sorry!” was all she could say, as she quickly replaced the file of papers in the despatch-box. “I—I——”
But further words failed her, and she stood abashed, confused, and ashamed.