"I am come on a very painful errand, Mr. Spencer. There is a small volume here which throws a very clear light on what happened at Cathcart Square on that fatal evening of July the fourth."
Guy's cheerful accents rang out. "You mean you have got a clue, Mr. Bryant. But why painful to me? If you are on the track of the murderer of my poor old friend, nobody will be more rejoiced than I."
Again the low, grave tones of Bryant:
"Mr. Spencer, you will be a very stricken man when you have read through it. Your poor friend left behind him a very copious diary, made up to the morning of the day on which he was murdered. The original is at my office, you can inspect it at any time you like. This is a copy of the entries relating to Cathcart Square. It touches your domestic life very closely, in addition to proving why and by whom he was murdered."
Stella waited to hear no more. Her face had gone livid, she felt shaking in every limb. That her old enemy, Murchison, had left a diary! They had never thought of that possibility. The game was up. She had staked something on her marriage as Norah Burton with Jack Pomfret, and had lost. This time she had staked everything and lost again, but now she had lost liberty and life in addition. There was but one end. She must seek at once the man who had, in a way, been a good and faithful friend, but also her evil genius.
She stole as quietly out of the hall as she had entered it, and hailed a passing taxi. She knew she would never enter the house at Eaton Place again.
CHAPTER XXV
Mrs. Spencer had plenty of money in her pocket. She was always accustomed to carry a large sum about her. Her adventurous life had taught her that it was always wiser to have a good amount of cash in her possession. The time might come at any moment when you were in a tight corner. She had promised a handsome reward to the taxi-cab driver if he could get to a certain destination within the speed limit.