She might have spared herself the trouble of beating about the bush.  There was no hesitation about Tavernake.

“He said that your friends were every one of them criminals,” Tavernake declared, “and he admitted that he was working hard at the present moment to discover that you were one, too.”

She laughed softly but heartily.

“I wonder what was his object,” she remarked, “in taking you into his confidence.”

“He happened to know,” Tavernake explained, “that I was intimate with your sister.  He wanted me to ask Beatrice a certain question.”

Elizabeth laughed no more.  She looked steadfastly into his eyes.

“And that question?”

“He wanted me to ask Beatrice why she left you and hid herself in London.”

She tried to smile but not very successfully.

“According to his story,” Tavernake continued, “you and Beatrice and your husband were away together somewhere in the country.  Something happened there, something which resulted in the disappearance of your husband.  Beatrice came back alone and has not been near you since.  Soon afterwards, you, too, came back alone.  Mr. Gardner has not been seen or heard of.”

Elizabeth was bending over her dog, but even Tavernake, unobservant though he was, could see that she was shaken.

“Pritchard is a clever man, generally,” she remarked, “diabolically clever.  Why has he told you all this, I wonder?  He must have known that you would probably repeat it to me.  Why does he want to show me his hand?”

“I have no idea,” Tavernake replied.  “These matters are all beyond me.  They do not concern me in any way.  I am not keeping you from your friends?  Please send me away when you like.”

“Don’t go just yet,” she begged.  “Sit with me for a moment.  Can’t you see,” she added, whispering, “that I have had a shock?  Sit with me.  I can’t go back to those others just yet.”

Tavernake did as he was bidden.  The woman at his side was still caressing the little animal she carried.  Watching her, however, Tavernake could see that her bosom was rising and falling quickly.  There was an unnatural pallor in her cheeks, a terrified gleam in her eyes.  Nevertheless, these things passed.  In a very few seconds she was herself again.

“Come,” she said, “it is not often that I give way.  The only time I am ever afraid is when there is something which I do not understand.  I do not understand Mr. Pritchard to-night.  I know that he is my enemy.  I cannot imagine why he should talk to you.  He must have known that you would repeat all he said.  It is not like him.  Tell me, Mr. Tavernake, you have heard all sorts of things about me.  Do you believe them?  Do you believe—­it’s rather a horrible thing to ask, isn’t it?” she went on hurriedly, —­“do you believe that I made away with my husband?”

“You surely do not need to ask me that question,” Tavernake answered, fervently.  “I should believe your word, whatever you told me.  I should not believe that you could do anything wrong.”