"Do you know why I am here to-night?" Wrayson asked.
"No! Why?"
"To meet that young woman of yours," Wrayson answered.
Barnes looked at him in amazement.
"What do you mean?" he asked quickly. "You don't know her, do you?"
His sallow cheeks were paler than ever. His narrow eyes, furtively raised to Wrayson's, were full of inquisitive fear.
"No! I don't know her," Wrayson answered, "but I rather fancy, all the same, that she is the young person whom I came here to meet to-night."
Barnes waited breathlessly for an explanation. He did not say a word, but his whole attitude was an insistent interrogation point.
"You remember," Wrayson said, "that when you and I were pursuing these investigations together, I made some inquiries of the woman at whose flat your brother called on the night of his murder. I saw her again at Dinant yesterday, and she told me of this young person. She also evidently believed that the man for whom she was inquiring was your brother."
Barnes nodded.
"She told me that she was to have met a gentleman to-night," he said. "Here, we must go and speak to her now, or she'll think that something's up."
He performed something that was meant for an introduction.
"Friend of mine, Miss," he said, indicating Wrayson. "Knew my brother well, lived in the flat just below him, in fact. Perhaps you'd like to ask him a few questions."
