He glanced at me swiftly, and his bronzed face wore a peculiar expression.
“Have you had an opportunity of any private conversation with Miss Val Beverley?” he enquired.
“Yes,” I said. “Surely you remember that you found me chatting with her when you returned from your inspection of the tower.”
“I remember perfectly well, but I thought you might have just met. Now it appears to me, Knox, that you have quickly established yourself in the good books of a very charming girl. My only reason for visiting the tower was to afford you just this opportunity! Don’t frown. Beyond reminding you of the fact that she has been on intimate terms with Madame de Stämer for some years, I will not intrude in any way upon your private plans in that direction.”
I stared at him, and I suppose my expression was an angry one.
“Surely you don’t misunderstand me?” he said. “A cultured English girl of that type cannot possibly have lived with these people without learning something of the matters which are puzzling us so badly. Am I asking too much?”
“I see what you mean,” I said, slowly. “No, I suppose you are right, Harley.”
“Good,” he muttered. “I will leave that side of the enquiry in your very capable hands, Knox.”
He paused, and began to stare about him.
“From this point,” said he, “we have an unobstructed view of the tower.”
We turned and stood looking up at the unsightly gray structure, with its geometrical rows of windows and the minaret-like gallery at the top.
“Of course”—I broke a silence of some moments’
