“I have never been able to ascertain. Once I glanced at a note lying on madame’s dressing-table. It merely announced the writer’s intention to attend Lady Pearson’s ‘at home,’ and was signed ‘X.’”
“Well,” I said hoarsely, after a long silence. “What else?”
“Nothing,” she replied. “That is all I know, sir.”
“Has my wife taken her jewels?” I inquired.
“No. She has left her jewel-case unlocked, but everything is there. She has even left behind her wedding-ring.”
“Her wedding-ring!” I echoed, astounded and dismayed. “Then she has discarded me completely.”
“Unfortunately it appears so, sir,” the girl observed gravely.
“Very well, Roberts,” I said in a broken voice. “Thank you. You may go.”
The girl glanced at me for an instant, with a sad, pitying look, then turned and left, closing the door noiselessly behind her.
Alone, I sank into the chair utterly broken down, still holding in my nervous, trembling fingers the secret document that secured the peace and welfare of the two most powerful nations on earth. I had at last discovered the hideous truth. Ella, the woman whose grace and beauty had held me enmeshed, and whom I had loved with an intensity of passion that was all-consuming, was, after all, base and worthless. Although making a hollow pretence to love me, she had cast me aside for this mysterious man who signed himself with an initial, and who met her secretly almost daily. I had been a blind, devoted idiot, I knew, but until I had watched her in Kensington Gardens I had never suspected her of infamy. It seemed, however, that she had no sense of shame, and cared nought for my dishonour or despair. Her perfidy was now revealed in all its painful reality. Ella, whom I had always regarded as pure, honest and trusting, was a woman of tarnished repute. The fact that she had the secret convention in her possession was, in itself, sufficient evidence that the mystery surrounding her was deep, and of no ordinary character. Sonia had warned me that she was my enemy, and this fact was now indeed vividly apparent.