“Well—to tell you the truth, sir, I thought I recognised the voice of a gentleman who often visits Cadogan Gardens—Mr Eastwell.”
“Eastwell!” I echoed. “Do you really think it was actually Mr Eastwell?”
I glanced at Roseye and saw that, at mention of the man’s name, her face had instantly gone pale as death, and her hands were trembling.
“Are you quite sure of that, Mulliner?” she asked breathlessly.
“No. Not quite. I only know that he wore a big pair of motor-goggles with flaps on the cheeks, and those effectively altered his appearance, but as he assisted in tying me up in the chair, my eyes caught sight of his watch-chain. It was familiar to me—one of alternate twisted links of gold and platinum of quite uncommon pattern. This I recognised as Mr Eastwell’s, for I had seen it many times before, and it went far to confirm my suspicion that the voice was undoubtedly his. I admit, miss, that I was staggered at the discovery.”
I led Roseye into the best room and, having closed the door, stood before her in front of the log fire and asked:
“Now what is your opinion, dear? Has Lionel Eastwell been here to-night, do you really think?” Her pale lips compressed, and her eyes narrowed at my words. I saw that she was unnerved and trembling.
“Yes,” she whispered at last. “Yes—Claude—I believe he has been here!”
“Then he’s not our friend, as we have so foolishly believed—eh?”
She drew a long breath, and gazed about the room as though utterly mystified.