"Then you will be at the house at seven, eh?" she asked, rising from her chair, her handsome face pale and hard-set.
"I shall," was my brief response.
Then, as she put out her hand to me in farewell, I suddenly fixed her with my eyes and said:
"As we now understand each other so perfectly, Mrs. Auberon, I wonder that you are not entirely frank with me."
"Frank with you! What do you mean?" she exclaimed in surprise.
"Well, you might, for instance, acknowledge the motive of this little affair—that another man, Mr. Paul Taylor, is anxious to marry you in the event of your husband's non-recovery."
"How did you know that?" she gasped, her face blanched to the lips.
"I learnt it to-day," I said, quite coolly. "You left the house at three o'clock and kept an appointment with Taylor in the Burmese Tea Rooms, in Bond Street. Afterwards you went to a mourning warehouse in Regent Street, where you were measured for a gown, though you did not actually order one. Taking time by the forelock, Mrs. Auberon, eh?"
"You have had me watched!" she cried resentfully.
