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Updated: May 12, 2025
His brows were knitted into a heavy frown, and he was evidently following my story with close attention. But exactly where I was going to lead, he seemed to have no idea. "The tenant of Braster Grange," I continued, "is a Mrs. Smith-Lessing, whom Colonel Ray has told me is a servant of the French secret police. I am afraid that Lord Blenavon has been a good deal under her influence."
"You will forgive my suggesting it, your Grace," I said, with some hesitation, "but you have not, I presume, had occasion to go to the safe during the day?" "I have not," the Duke answered tersely. "Then I cannot suggest any explanation of the opening of the safe," I admitted. "It was impossible for Mrs. Smith-Lessing to have opened it unless she knew the code word."
She was wrapped from head to foot in a long cloak, and she was thickly veiled. But I knew her at once. It was Mrs. Smith-Lessing. My first impulse was one of anger. It seemed to me that she was taking advantage of the sympathy which Ray's brutality during our last interview had forced from me. I spoke to her coldly, almost angrily. "Mrs.
Just as I had changed my hat for a cap, however, wrapped my rug around my knees, and settled down for the journey, the door of my carriage was thrown open, and I saw two women looking in, one of whom I recognized at once. Mrs. Smith-Lessing, although the night was warm, was wearing a heavy and magnificent fur coat, and the guard of the train himself was attending her.
There was a vein of positive brutality somewhere in the man's nature. "I am sorry," I answered him, "but I cannot come to your rooms at present. The Duke is my present employer, and I am here to take Mrs. Smith-Lessing to him. As long as she is willing to accept my escort I shall certainly carry out my instructions." "Don't be a fool, boy," Ray exclaimed sharply.
"So you have turned up, Angela," he remarked, looking at her a little nervously. "You remember Mrs. Smith-Lessing, don't you down at Bordighera, you know?" Angela shook her head, but she never glanced towards the woman who sat there with expectant smile. "I am afraid that I do not," she said. "I remember a good many things about Bordighera, but not Mrs. Smith-Lessing.
But when she raised her veil and took the carte-du-jour in her hand, I knew her at once. It was Mrs. Smith-Lessing. She had not seen me, and my first impulse was to pay my bill and step quietly out. Then by chance I glanced at her companion, and my heart stood still. He was a tall man, over six feet, but he stooped badly, and his walk had been almost the walk of an invalid.
My father dropped his glass. Mrs. Smith-Lessing looked bewildered. "The Duke," I said to her, "desires to see you. Can you come to Cavendish Square this afternoon?" "The Duke?" she murmured. "He wishes to see you," I repeated. "Shall I tell him that you will call at four o'clock this afternoon, or will you go back with me?" "Do you mean this?" she asked in a low tone. "I do not understand it.
He continued in a more collected manner, but his voice still shook with inexpressible scorn. "Angela," he said, turning to her, "is it within your knowledge that Blenavon had any acquaintance with this person?" I think that her face might well have answered him: very white it was, and very sorrowful. "Blenavon met Mrs. Smith-Lessing, I believe, at Bordighera," she said.
Smith-Lessing, the new tenant of Braster Grange, somewhere between seven and eight o'clock, and barely an hour later I found myself alone in a first-class carriage with her, and a four hours' journey before us. She had arrived at King's Cross apparently only a few minutes before the departure of the train, for the platform was almost deserted when I took my seat.
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