“Yes, sir,” said Soames, holding his hat
in both bands, and speaking huskily. “Yes,
sir: certainly, sir.”
He crossed the lobby and disappeared.
“There is no other way out, is there?”
inquired the detective, glancing at Dr. Cumberly.
“There is no other way,” was the reply;
“but surely you don’t suspect"...
“I would suspect the Archbishop of Westminster,”
snapped Dunbar, “if he came in like that!
Now, sir,”—he turned to Leroux—“you
were alone, here, to-night?”
“Quite alone, Inspector. The truth is,
I fear, that my servants take liberties in the absence
of my wife.”
“In the absence of your wife? Where is
your wife?”
“She is in Paris.”
“Is she a Frenchwoman?”
“No! oh, no! But my wife is a painter,
you understand, and—er—I met
her in Paris—er—... Must you
insist upon these—domestic particulars,
Inspector?”
“If Mr. Exel is anxious to turn in,” replied
the inspector, “after his no doubt exhausting
duties at the House, and if Dr. Cumberly—”
“I have no secrets from Cumberly!” interjected
Leroux. “The doctor has known me almost
from boyhood, but—er—”
turning to the politician—“don’t
you know, Exel—no offense, no offense"...
“My dear Leroux,” responded Exel hastily,
“I am the offender! Permit me to wish you
all good night.”
He crossed the study, and, at the door, paused and
turned.
“Rely upon me, Leroux,” he said, “to
help in any way within my power.”
He crossed the lobby, opened the outer door, and departed.
“Now, Mr. Leroux,” resumed Dunbar, “about
this matter of your wife’s absence.”
A WINDOW IS OPENED
Whilst Henry Leroux collected his thoughts, Dr. Cumberly
glanced across at the writing-table where lay the
fragment of paper which had been clutched in the dead
woman’s hand, then turned his head again toward
the inspector, staring at him curiously. Since
Dunbar had not yet attempted even to glance at the
strange message, he wondered what had prompted the
present line of inquiry.
“My wife,” began Leroux, “shared
a studio in Paris, at the time that I met her, with
an American lady a very talented portrait painter—er—a
Miss Denise Ryland. You may know her name?—but
of course, you don’t, no! Well, my wife
is, herself, quite clever with her brush; in fact she
has exhibited more than once at the Paris Salon.
We agreed at—er—the time of
our—of our—engagement, that she
should be free to visit her old artistic friends in
Paris at any time. You understand? There
was to be no let or hindrance.... Is this really
necessary, Inspector?”
“Pray go on, Mr. Leroux.”
“Well, you understand, it was a give-and-take
arrangement; because I am afraid that I, myself, demand
certain—sacrifices from my wife—and—er—I
did not feel entitled to—interfere"...
