‘You are riot expecting Mr. Redgrave?’ she said quickly.

‘No, madam.  We always have fires against the damp.’

Thereupon the woman withdrew, closing the door, and Mrs. Strangeways, who was very pale save for her rouge spots, said in a low tone of great relief ——­

’I began to fear there might be some mistake.  Put up your veil for a moment, dear, and glance at the pictures.  Every one has cost a small fortune.  Oh, he is immensely rich —­ and knows so well what to buy!’

CHAPTER 6

Alma’s agitation did not permit her to examine details.  The interior of Redgrave’s house was very much what she had imagined; its atmosphere of luxurious refinement, its colour, perfume, warmth, at once allured and alarmed her.  She wished to indulge her senses, and linger till she had seen everything; she wished to turn at once and escape.  Mrs. Strangeways, meanwhile, seemed to be looking for the album of which she had spoken, moving hither and thither, with a frequent pause as of one who listens, or a glance towards the door.

‘You won’t be long?’ said Alma, turning abruptly to her.

’It’s my silly nervousness, dear.  I thought I remembered perfectly where the album lay.  How foolish of me!  I quite tremble —­ anyone would think we were burglars.’

She laughed, and stood looking about the room.

‘Is that it?’ asked Alma, pointing to a volume on a table near her.

‘Yes! —­ no —­ I’m not sure.’

An album it was; Mrs. Strangeways unclasped it, and turned over a few pages with quivering hand.

’No, I thought not.  It’s a smaller one.  Oh, what a good photo of Mrs Carnaby!  Have you seen this one?’

Alma stepped forward to look, strangely startled by the name of her friend; it was as though Sibyl herself had suddenly entered the room and found her here.  The photograph she already knew; but its eyes seemed to regard her with the very look of life, and at once she drew back.

‘Do find the right one, Mrs. Strangeways,’ she spoke imploringly.  ’It must be —­ What bell was that?’

An electric bell had rung within the house; it still trembled in her ears, and she turned sick with fright.  Mrs. Strangeways, flushing red, stammered a reassurance.

‘There —­ here is the right one —­ in a minute ——­’

The door opened.  As she saw it move, a dreadful certainty of what was about to happen checked Alma’s breath, and a sound like a sob escaped her; then she was looking straight into the eyes of Cyrus Redgrave.  He, wearing an ulster and with a travelling-cap in his hand, seemed not to recognise her, but turned his look upon her companion, and spoke with mirthful friendliness.

’What!  I have caught you, Mrs. Strangeways?  Police!  Oh, I am so sorry I didn’t send you a wire.  I thought you would come tomorrow, or the day after.  How very kind of you to take this trouble immediately.  I had to run over at a moment’s notice. —­ Mrs. Rolfe!  Forgive me; for the moment I didn’t know you, coming out of the darkness.  So glad to see you.’