"
"Where does she ring you up from?" asked Rolfe, eyeing Mademoiselle
Chiron's handkerchief intently.
"From Brighton--from Eastbourne--wherever she stops."
"What place was she stopping at when you heard from her last?"
"Eastbourne, monsieur."
"And when will she return here?"
"That, monsieur, I do not know. To-night--to-morrow--next week--she does
not tell me. If Monsieur will leave me a message I will see that she gets
it, for it is always me she wants, and it is always me that talks to her.
What shall I tell her when next she rings the telephone? If Monsieur will
state his business I will tell Madame what he tells me. I am Madame's
cousin by marriage--in me she has confidence."
She spoke in a tone which invited confidence, but Rolfe was not prepared
to go to the length of trusting the young woman he saw before him,
despite her assurance that she was in the confidence of Mrs. Holymead. He
rose to his feet with a keen glance at Mademoiselle Chiron's
handkerchief, which she had rolled into a little ball in her hand.
"I cannot disclose my business to you, mademoiselle," he said
courteously. "I must see Mrs. Holymead personally, so I shall call again
when she has returned.
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