"That's bad," the man was saying, "why didn't you let me know that things had got to this pass? I daresay I could have helped you."
"No, you would have promised to," Mrs. Speed cried, "and disappointed me at the last moment. All my savings have gone into your pocket; you have wheedled everything out of me till I haven't so much as a penny left. And now you come here for more of those letters! That you are up to no good I feel certain. I know by your dress and style that you have had the command of money. What are you doing there?"
"Never you mind," the man said sulkily, "you'll know all in good time. I'm playing for a big stake, and for once in a way it has turned up trumps. Only; I want that particular letter. When I get the letter I can answer certain questions. Give me the letter, and I'll pledge my word that within a week you shall have all the money you require. Only you are to ask no questions, and you are not to move away from here, mind that!"
"Oh, if I could get away from here!" Mrs. Speed sobbed. "Give me a chance of earning my living, and that is all I ask for. I'll ask the agent to give me another week, though I am afraid he won't do it. I've put him off too often."
It was perhaps wrong of Mary to stand listening, but some fascination held her to the spot. She had a strong desire to see who the man with the familiar voice was.
"Then you are going to let me have the letter?" he said.
"I suppose so," came the weary response. "Never a thing yet that you made up your mind to have that you didn't coax out of me. But the letters are hidden in a box at the top of the house, and they will take some finding. Come again tomorrow at the same time, and I'll see what I can do for you. But if I consulted my own inclination I should go and see Lady Dashwood and tell her everything. I am sick of this intrigue and mystery."
The man said something in a soothing kind of voice, and then followed a sound like a kiss. Then a match was struck, and the heavy, dense atmosphere became impregnated with the smell of fresh tobacco, after which the dining-room door opened and the man came into the hall.
Mary walked swiftly back to the foot of the stairs. Without being noticed now, she had a good view of the man's face. She started, but managed to check the exclamation that rose to her lips. No wonder that the voice had been familiar to her. For she was gazing at the dark, sinister features of Sir Vincent Dashwood!
It was only for a moment, and then the front door opened and the man swaggered out. Without troubling any further about her milk, Mary crept up the stairs again. She had plenty now to occupy her thoughts. What was that man doing here, and what letter was it that he was so anxious to obtain? And why had he so powerful an influence over Mrs. Speed? It was open to Mary to ask the question, but she decided to do nothing of the kind.
After all, questions of this sort would be worse than useless. They would only arouse the suspicion and perhaps incur the curiosity of Mrs. Speed. Still, the whole thing was a most extraordinary coincidence--not quite so much of a coincidence perhaps if Mary had looked into the mind of Ralph Darnley?
But as the girl could not do so, she had to figure out the problem as best she could. She recalled vividly to mind now the strange suggestions made by Lady Dashwood as to a great sin in the past with which she was intimately connected. And here, according to Mrs. Speed, the latter was an accomplice either before or after the fact. And why did the man who came here in such urgent need of a certain letter require that document, seeing that he had been accepted all around as Sir Vincent Dashwood?
Mary was still pondering the problem when Connie came back. The latter was her own bright and cheerful self again, she had done a good morning's work, and she had been paid for it to the extent of nearly a sovereign. She was inclined to take a light view of life. She made no allusion to the portfolio, for which Mary was grateful.
"I am very hungry," she said. "How nice this pressed beef is, and the lettuce, too! I have had better, but as things go in London they are very good."
Mary was silent. The beef was stringy and a little dry, the lettuce wilted and yellow. In her mind's eye the girl could see the luncheon table of the dower house at this particular moment; she could see the dusky, cool room, with the breeze coming off the flowers in the garden. She could see the snowy cloth and the crystal and the salad, cool and refreshing in the great silver bowl. There would be nectarines and peaches too from the ripe south walls of the garden. The whole atmosphere of it flooded Mary's soul and brought the tears to her eyes.
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