"Instead of which," he muttered, as he lit a cigarette, "I shall go on to the end."
The sunlight streamed down into the little grey courtyard of the _Leon D'or_ at Bonestre. Sir Leslie Borrowdean, in an immaculate grey suit, and with a carefully chosen pink carnation in his button-hole, sat alone at a small table having his morning coffee. His attention was divided between a copy of the _Figaro_ and a little pile of letters and telegrams on the other side of his plate. More than once he glanced at the topmost of the latter and smiled.
Mrs. Mannering and Hester came down the grey stone steps and crossed towards their own table. The former lingered for a moment as she passed Sir Leslie, who rose to greet the two women.
"Another glorious day!" he remarked. "What news from Leeds?"
"None," she said. "My husband seldom writes."
Sir Leslie smiled reflectively, and glanced towards the pile of papers at his side.
"Perhaps," she remarked, "you know better than I do how things are going there."
"I have no correspondents in Leeds," he answered.
At that moment a puff of wind disturbed the papers by his side. A telegram would have fluttered away, but Blanche Mannering caught it at the edge of the table. She was handing it back, when a curious expression on Borrowdean's face inspired her with a sudden idea. She deliberately looked at the telegram, and her fingers stiffened upon it. His forward movement was checked. She stood just out of his reach.
"No correspondents in Leeds," she repeated. "Then what about this telegram?"
"You will permit me to remind you," he said, stretching out his hand for it, "that it is addressed to me."
Her hands were behind her. She leaned over towards him.
"It can be addressed to you a thousand times over," she answered, "but before I part with it I want to know what it means."
Borrowdean was thinking quickly. He wanted to gain time.
"I do not even know which document you have--purloined," he said.
"It is from Leeds," she answered, "and it is signed Polden. 'Parkins found, has made statement, appears to-night.' Can you explain what this means, Sir Leslie Borrowdean?"
Her voice was scarcely raised above a whisper, but there was a dangerous glitter in her eyes. There were few traces left of the woman whom once before he had found so easy a tool.