"I'll do my best, Bunbury," said Mme. Storey gravely.
We went on up to the boudoir. That woman's folly was simply incredible. We found her swathed in black chiffon, her face made up dead white. She was seated in front of the lacquer table, on which she had placed a photograph of the smug and unpleasant Ram Lal flanked with lighted candles. Turning on my employer like a tragedy queen, she shot out an accusing forefinger.
"You knew what was going to happen! And you didn't prevent it! I could almost call you his murderer!"
"Be yourself, Aline," said Mme. Storey calmly. "I thought it was a hoax. We are continually being hoaxed over the telephone."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Well, you are not a person that one tells things to. You carry on so!"
I doubt if this reached Mrs. Julian's unders
