Ingram was, or even
one single fact about her.
From
that point to supposing that she could be Kate Spain was obviously a long way.
She might be—well, let’s say almost anything; but not a woman accused of
murder, and acquitted only because the circumstantial evidence was insufficient
to hang her. I dismissed the grotesque supposition at once; there were problems
enough to keep me awake without that.
When
I said that I knew nothing of Mrs. Ingram I was mistaken. I knew one fact about
her; that she could put up with Cassie Wilpert. It was only a clue, but I had
felt from the first that it was a vital one. What conceivable interest or
obligation could make a woman like Mrs. Ingram endure such an intimacy? If I
knew that, I should know all I cared to know about her; not only about her
outward circumstances but her inmost self.
Hitherto,
in indulging my feeling for her, I had been disposed to slip past the awkward
obstacle of Cassie Wilpert; but now I was resolved to face it. I meant to ask
Kate Ingram to marry me. If she refused, her private affairs were obviously no
business of mine; but if she accepted I meant to have the Wilpert question out
with her at once.
It
seemed a long time before daylight came; and then there were more hours to be
passed before I could reasonably present myself to Mrs. Ingram. But at nine I
sent a line to ask when she would see me; and a few minutes later my note was
returned to me by the floor-waiter.
“But
this isn’t an answer; it’s my own note,” I exclaimed.
Yes;
it was my own note. He had brought it back because the lady had already left
the hotel.
“Left? Gone out, you mean?”
“No;
left with all her luggage. The two ladies went an hour ago.”
In
a few minutes I was dressed and had hurried down to the concierges. It was a mistake, I was sure; of course Mrs. Ingram had
not left. The floor-waiter, whom I had long since classed as an idiot, had
simply gone to the wrong door. But no; the concierges
shook his head. It was not a mistake. Mrs. Ingram and Miss Wilpert had gone
away suddenly that morning by motor. The chauffeur’s orders were to take them
to Italy; to Baveno or Stresa, he thought; but he wasn’t sure, and the ladies
had left no address. The hotel servants said they had been up all night
packing. The heavy luggage was to be sent to Milan; the concierges
had orders to direct it to the station. That was all the information he could
give—and I thought he looked at me queerly as he gave it.
I
did not see Jimmy Shreve again before leaving Mont Soleil that day; indeed I
exercised all my ingenuity in keeping out of his way. If I were to ask any
further explanations, it was of Mrs. Ingram that I meant to ask them. Either
she was Kate Spain, or she was not; and either way, she was the woman to whom I
had declared my love. I should have thought nothing of Shreve’s insinuations if
I had not recalled Mrs. Ingram’s start when she first saw him. She herself had
owned that she had taken him for some one she knew; but even this would not
have meant much if she and her companion had not disappeared from the hotel a
few hours later, without leaving a message for me, or an address with the
hall-porter.
I
did not for a moment suppose that this disappearance was connected with my talk
of the previous evening with Mrs.
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