When we entered the dining-room, a fine apartment with the table laid
with shining plate, decorated with flowers, and illuminated with
red-shaded candles, we were greeted, as we expected, by a loud and
rather boisterous welcome by Dick and Mary. We were, of course, full of
apologies, being nearly half an hour late. But up-river dinner is a
somewhat movable feast, so Mrs. Blain quickly forgave us, and while I
sat by Mary on her one hand, Dick seated himself at Eva's side.
Gaily we gossiped through a merry meal, washed down with a real
Berncastel, and followed by old port, coffee, and curacoa. Yet my mind
was full of strange apprehensions. What possible connexion could these
three women have with that crime which the police were withholding from
the public? That they were all three aware that a tragedy had taken
place seemed quite clear. Yet all remained silent.
I had detected in Mrs. Blain's manner an anxiety and nervousness which I
had never before noticed, yet I refrained from putting any further
question to her, lest I might, by doing so, show my hand. She could not
keep from her tone when she spoke to me a note of insincerity, which my
ear did not fail to detect.
Our conversation over dessert turned upon dogs, the performances of
Mary's pug having started the discussion, and quite inadvertently Dick,
whose mind seemed always centred upon his work, for he was nothing if
not an enthusiast, suddenly said--
"Dogs are now being used by the police to trace criminals. There is no
better method when it can be accomplished, for a bloodhound will follow
a trail anywhere with unfailing accuracy, even after some hours."
"Do they actually use them now?" asked Mrs. Blain in a strained,
faltering voice, her wine-glass poised in her hand.
"Yes," he responded. "They've been utilised with entire success in two
or three cases this week, not only in London, but in the provinces also.
They are unfailing, and will track the guilty one with an accuracy
that's absolutely astounding."
Eva and Mary exchanged quick glances across the table, while Mrs. Blain
sipped her wine and stirred uneasily in her chair.
I noticed that the colour had died out from the faces of all three, and
that in their blanched countenances was a look of mingled fear and
suspicion.
My friend had led that conversation with remarkable tact to quite an
unlooked-for result.
He lifted his eyes to mine for an instant and read my thoughts. My mind
became filled with a presentiment of future ill.