“Do you mean, sir, that madame has—has run away?” she gasped.
“No—well, not exactly,” I stammered. “But did she tell you anything?”
With eyes downcast the girl paused in hesitation, answering at last, “She didn’t actually tell me anything.”
“But what do you know about her intentions?”
“Nothing,” she answered. Then, after a pause, she added, “Well, to tell you the truth, sir, I had suspicions.”
“Of what? Do not fear to speak because I am her husband,” I said reassuringly. “I may as well know the worst at once.”
“She used frequently to receive notes from a gentleman. They were brought by a commissionaire or by a man-servant, who waited for the answer. When they came I always knew that on the following day she would be absent many hours.”
“You believe that she met this mysterious individual—eh?” I asked huskily.
“Yes, for she always told me never to admit to you that she had been long absent. Therefore I had suspicion that she met somebody clandestinely.”
“What was his name?”