to my rooms, turning this latest enigma over and over in my mind, looking at it from every angle, trying in vain to discover some fact that would implicate Tremaine. At my door I paused a moment; then I crossed the hall and knocked at Tremaine’s door. Perhaps Cecily had forgiven me, and in an evening’s talk I ought surely to be able to find out something more…
But it was not Cecily, it was Tremaine himself who opened to me.
“Oh, Mr. Lester,” he cried, with hand outstretched, “how are you? I wanted to see you—I’ve been listening for your step. You must join us here this evening.”
“I shall be glad to,” I said, returning his clasp, all my suspicions melting away, reduced to absurdity, at sight of him. “But why so particularly this evening?”
“Because we’ve planned a little celebration. Cecily is going away”
“Going away?”
“Yes—back to St. Pierre to get my house in order—but I’ll tell you at dinner—it’s to be served here in an hour. You will come?”
“Certainly I will,” I assured him, and hastened over to my room to dress.
He was awaiting me when I knocked an hour later; a table had been set with three places.
“Come in,” he said. “Dinner will be here directly. I thought it safer to have the celebration here because—well,” and he nodded significantly toward the inner room.
