The Toff and The Lady t-15
Page 20
“Let them think,” said Rollison.
“I shall hate to go,” she said, “but I must, and soon. You understand, don’t you?”
“Of course,” said Rollison. “I have been wrong to let you stay for so long.” He took the folded letter from his pocket, handed it to her, and spoke carefully. “Before you go, read that. It might bring something to your mind. It was found by the police. I read it because”—he paused— “because I had to.”
She took it, obviously puzzled. She unfolded it, saw the opening words, and looked up at him, a new expression in her eyes. It was one almost of fear—perhaps of fearful hope. She began to read, but she had not read more than half the letter before she crushed it in her fingers and jumped up. On her face was a radiance which Rollison had hoped to see, but not because of this.
He made himself speak.
“You remember?”
“I remember! It is coming back, everything is coming back! My husband is in Paris, this letter which I wrote to him was not received. It must have been placed in an envelope sent to London. Where did you find it?”
“It was at Barrington House.”
“But I did not write there,” she said, “I wrote always to Mr. Barrington-Ley at the firm of Pomeroy, in the Strand. How did this get to Barrington House?”
“Pomeroy probably took it there,” said Rollison.
“Of course! Poor Paul, how disappointed he was not to receive my weekly letter!” She was in great spirits, and moved about the room excitedly. “I remember everything! Paul—my home—New York—everything, everything; It is glorious! It is wonderful!” She stopped suddenly, then moved towards him, took his hands in hers and kissed Rollison. He held her very tightly, and only when he felt her stiffen did he release her, afraid that he had given himself away.
But she was suddenly filled with great alarm.
“Mr. Rollison! I remember now, in New York I learned that this man Pomeroy intended to do harm to Mr. Barrington-Ley. A man whom he knew asked for my aid in deception, I refused it; immediately I sailed for London. There was a horrid week in a small house, where I saw Pomeroy. We must warn”
“There’s no need to warn anyone,” said Rollison. “It’s all over.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m quite sure,” said Rollison.
“I’m so glad,” the Lady of Lost Memory said. Then, after a pause: “Poor Paul! He will be frantic because he has not heard from me for so long. I must telephone him.” She looked towards the telephone, and Rollison, turning so that she could not see his eyes, went to it, lifted the receiver, dialled, and said:
“I want a Continental number, please.”
THE END
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