“You’ve heard about it, then?” he asked.
“I know that something terrible has happened,” said Drysdale, a little hoarsely. “I don’t know what—it’s beyond imagining, even—at least, beyond my poor brain. Miss Croydon told me to come to you”
“Ah!” commented Godfrey. “Did she do that?”
“Yes—she said you could tell me all I wished to know.”
“Where did you see her?”
“At Mrs. Delroy’s. I came straight here from there.”
“So you were at Mrs. Delroy’s?” and Godfrey mused for a moment, with eyes intent on the fire. “But come, we’ll never get the thing straightened out this way. Let’s begin at the beginning. Tell me what happened at Mrs. Delroy’s and then I’ll fill out the story, if I can. Let me have every detail you can remember.”
Drysdale waited a moment to be sure of his self-control.
“I called at Mrs. Delroy’s about nine o’clock,” he began, “and asked for Miss Croydon”
“Wait a minute,” Godfrey interrupted. “I want to ask you a question, which you mustn’t be offended at. I’m asking because I’ll have to know if I’m really to help you. Are you and Miss Croydon engaged to be married?”
Again a minute passed before the answer came.
“Yes,” said Drysdale huskily, at last.
Godfrey silently held out his hand and gave his companion’s fingers a warm pressure.
“Now go on,” he said.
“I was shown into the library,” continued the other,
