“I certainly don’t know you,” I responded coldly—
She smiled. “Ah! I expect it’s my veil,” she said.
“But it’s really remarkable that you should not recognise Joliot, your wife’s maid.”
“You! My wife’s maid!” I gasped, recognising in an instant how cleverly I had been run to earth.
“Yes,” she replied. “Surely you recognise me?” and she raised her veil, displaying a rather unprepossessing face, dark and tragic, as though full of some hidden, sorrow.
I had never seen the woman before in my life, but instantly I resolved to display no surprise and act with caution.
“Ah, of course!” I said lamely. “The light here is so bad, you know, that I didn’t recognise you. And where are you going?”
“To London—to the dressmaker’s.”
“Mrs Heaton has sent you on some commission, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir.”