very elegant, for her deep black suited her well.
"Dr. d'Escombe," she began in a low, frightened voice, scarce above a whisper. "I—I'm in peril. I"
"What!" I gasped, starting up. "Is it known?"
"Not exactly. Wait, and I will explain the situation," she said as she bent eagerly towards me. "On my husband's death I found, quite contrary to my expectations, that I was left with ten thousand a year, together with Coombe Manor, our place in South Devon. I believed that it had all gone to Edward, and that I should only have a life-interest. And secondly—well, I found that Mr. Taylor and myself were not exactly suited to each other."
"I'm very sorry for that," I said. "I believed that you were devoted to each other."
"So we were—but—well, little differences arose between us, because—because—I may as well confess it—because I found out, by mere chance, who and what he really was."
"And what was he?"
"A pure adventurer."
"Phew!" and I emitted a long breath.
"And worse," she went on. "In a foolish
