There was a pause. Dale stood with
his back to the fireplace, one foot on the fender. The cigar took some
lighting. The pause grew irksome.
"My regard for Madame Brandt," said I at last, "is such that I don't
wish to discuss her with any one." I looked at Dale and met his keen
eyes fixed on me. The faintest shadow of a smile played about his mouth.
"Very well," said he dryly, "we won't discuss her. But all the same,
my dear Simon, I can't help being interested in her; and as you're
obviously the same, it seems rather curious that you don't know where
she is."
"Do you doubt me?" I asked, somewhat staggered by his tone.
"Good Heaven's, no! But if she has disappeared, I'm convinced that
something has happened which I know nothing of. Of course, it's none of
my business."
There was a new and startling note of assurance in his voice. Certainly
he had developed during the past few months. What I had done, Heaven
only knows. Misfortune, which is supposed to be formative of character,
seemed to have turned mine into pie.
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