'Good,' he said. 'Now I want you to answer me, in confidence, the questions I will put to you. Your replies I shall treat as absolutely secret.'
'Captain Pollock is from the Intelligence Department,' remarked the inspector, interrupting in explanation.
'I will answer, of course, to the best of my ability,' I said. 'But with one reservation—I will say nothing that might reflect upon a woman's honour.'
He pursed his lips ever so slightly. But that very slight movement did not pass me unnoticed.
Was a woman's honour concerned in this?
The two men exchanged glances, and in an instant a fierce resentment arose within me. Between us, upon the bare table, lay the gold chatelaine that I had bought at Bouet's, in the Gallerie at Monte Carlo a year and a half ago.
It had been found in that tunnel on the main line of the Great Northern. Something tragic had occurred. Was there any further room for doubt?
'The matter does not concern a woman's honour—er—not exactly so,' the man in khaki said slowly. 'I want to know' And he paused, as though hesitating to explain his motive for coming along to see me.
'What do you want to know about?' I asked boldly. 'Come, Captain Pollock, let us face each other. There is a mystery here in Miss Lethmere's disappearance, and in the finding of this bunch of feminine fripperies in the tunnel. I intend to elucidate it.'
'And I will assist you, Mr. Munro if you will only be frank with me.'
