She added—­

’Three gentlemen have called to see you.  They would leave no name, and, to tell the truth, were rather rude.  They seemed to doubt my word when I said you were not in.’

At his request she attempted to describe these callers.  Mutimer recognised them as members of his committee.

’Rude to you?  You must have mistaken.  What did they come here for?  I shall in any case see them to-night.’

They returned to the subject of Alice’s illness.

‘I’ve half a mind to tell her the truth,’ Mutimer said.  ’Surely she’d put the blackguard out of her head after that.’

‘No, no; you mustn’t tell her!’ Adela interposed.  ’I am sure it would be very unwise.’

Alice was growing worse; in an hour or two delirium began to declare itself.  She had resisted all efforts to put her to bed; at most she would lie on a couch.  Whilst Richard and his wife were debating what should be done, it was announced to them that the three gentlemen had called again.  Mutimer went oft angrily to see them.

He was engaged for half-an-hour.  Then Adela heard the visitors depart; one of them was speaking loudly and with irritation.  She waited for a moment at the head of the stairs, expecting that Mutimer would come out to her.  As he did not, she went into the sitting-room.

Mutimer stood before the fireplace, his eyes on the ground, his face discoloured with vehement emotion.

‘What has happened?’ she asked.

He looked up and beckoned to her to approach.

CHAPTER XXXIV

Adela bad never seen him so smitten with grave trouble.  She knew him in brutal anger and in surly ill-temper; but his present mood had nothing of either.  He seemed to stagger beneath a blow which had all but crushed him and left him full of dread.  He began to address her in a voice very unlike his own—­thick, uncertain; he used short sentences, often incomplete.

’Those men are on the committee.  One of them got a letter this morning—­anonymous.  It said they were to be on their guard against me.  Said the Company’s a swindle—­that I knew it—­that I’ve got money out of the people on false pretences.  And Hilary’s gone—­gone off—­taking all he could lay hands on.  The letter says so—­I don’t know.  It says I’m thick with the secretary—­a man I never even saw.  That he’s a well-known swindler—­Delancey his name is.  And these fellows believe it—­demand that I shall prove I’m innocent.  What proof can I give?  They think I kept out of the way on purpose this morning.’