I experienced a faint,
but distinctly uncomfortable, thrill. Could it be possible that he, who
knew me so well, could imagine for a moment that I was guilty?

"No, I don't believe you did it, my boy," he said slowly. "But I
do believe you know a lot more about it than you owned up to at the
time. Have you forgotten that Sunday night--the last time I saw you?
Because if you have, I haven't! I taxed you then with knowing--or
suspecting--that Anne Pendennis was mixed up with the affair in some way
or other. It was your own manner that roused my suspicions then, as well
as her flight; for it was flight, as we both know now. If I had done my
duty I should have set the police on her; but I didn't, chiefly for
Mary's sake,--she's fretting herself to fiddle-strings about the jade
already, and it would half kill her if she knew what the girl really
was."

"Stop," I said, very quietly. "If you were any other man, I would call
you a liar, Jim Cayley. But you're Mary's husband and my old friend, so
I'll only say you don't know what you're talking about."

"I do," he persisted. "It is you who don't or pretend you don't. I've
learned something even since you've been away. I told you I believed
both she and her father were mixed up with political intrigues; I spoke
then on mere suspicion. But I was right. She belongs to the same secret
society that Cassavetti was connected with; there was an understanding
between them that night, though it's quite possible they hadn't met each
other before. Do you remember she gave him a red geranium? That's their
precious symbol."

"Did you say all this to Southbourne when he showed you the portrait
that was found on Carson?" I interrupted.

"What, you know about the portrait, too?"

"Yes; he showed it me that same night, when I went to him after the
dinner. It's not Anne Pendennis at all."

"But it is, man; I recognized it the moment I saw it, before he told me
anything about it."

"You recognized it!" I echoed scornfully. "We all know you can never
recognize a portrait unless you see the name underneath. There was a
kind of likeness. I saw it myself; but it wasn't Anne's portrait! Now
just you tell me, right now, what you said to Southbourne. Any of this
nonsense about her and Cassavetti and the red symbol?"

"No," he answered impatiently. "I put two and two together and made that
out for myself, and I've never mentioned it to a soul but you."

I breathed more freely when I heard that.