“Yes!” he said.  “Your face speaks the truth this time.  Serious, indeed—­as serious as the money matters themselves.”

“More serious.  As true as I sit here, more serious!”

The light disappeared again and the talk went on.

“I showed you the letter to my wife that Anne Catherick hid in the sand,” Sir Percival continued.  “There’s no boasting in that letter, Fosco—­she does know the Secret.”

“Say as little as possible, Percival, in my presence, of the Secret.  Does she know it from you?”

“No, from her mother.”

“Two women in possession of your private mind—­bad, bad, bad, my friend!  One question here, before we go any farther.  The motive of your shutting up the daughter in the asylum is now plain enough to me, but the manner of her escape is not quite so clear.  Do you suspect the people in charge of her of closing their eyes purposely, at the instance of some enemy who could afford to make it worth their while?”

“No, she was the best-behaved patient they had—­and, like fools, they trusted her.  She’s just mad enough to be shut up, and just sane enough to ruin me when she’s at large—­if you understand that?”

“I do understand it.  Now, Percival, come at once to the point, and then I shall know what to do.  Where is the danger of your position at the present moment?”

“Anne Catherick is in this neighbourhood, and in communication with Lady Glyde—­there’s the danger, plain enough.  Who can read the letter she hid in the sand, and not see that my wife is in possession of the Secret, deny it as she may?”

“One moment, Percival.  If Lady Glyde does know the Secret, she must know also that it is a compromising secret for you.  As your wife, surely it is her interest to keep it?”

“Is it?  I’m coming to that.  It might be her interest if she cared two straws about me.  But I happen to be an encumbrance in the way of another man.  She was in love with him before she married me—­ she’s in love with him now—­an infernal vagabond of a drawing-master, named Hartright.”

“My dear friend! what is there extraordinary in that?  They are all in love with some other man.  Who gets the first of a woman’s heart?  In all my experience I have never yet met with the man who was Number One.  Number Two, sometimes.  Number Three, Four, Five, often.  Number One, never!  He exists, of course—­but I have not met with him.”

“Wait!  I haven’t done yet.  Who do you think helped Anne Catherick to get the start, when the people from the mad-house were after her?  Hartright.  Who do you think saw her again in Cumberland?  Hartright.  Both times he spoke to her alone.  Stop! don’t interrupt me.  The scoundrel’s as sweet on my wife as she is on him.  He knows the Secret, and she knows the Secret.  Once let them both get together again, and it’s her interest and his interest to turn their information against me.”