“No, Sir Eustace, that is just what I am telling you. I deceived you in this matter.”
“How long have you been married?”
“Just over eight years. I had been married just six months when I became your secretary. I did not want to lose the post. A resident secretary is not supposed to have a wife, so I suppressed the fact.”
“You take my breath away,” I remarked. “Where has she been all these years?”
“We have had a small bungalow on the river at Marlow, quite close to the Mill House, for over five years.”
“God bless my soul,” I muttered. “Any children?”
“Four children, Sir Eustace.”
I gazed at him in a kind of stupor. I might have known, all along, that a man like Pagett couldn’t have a guilty secret. The respectability of Pagett has always been my bane. That’s just the kind of secret he would have—a wife and four children.
“Have you told this to anyone else?” I demanded at last, when I had gazed at him in fascinated interest for quite a long while.
“Only Miss Beddingfeld. She came to the station at Kimberley.”
I continued to stare at him. He fidgeted under my glance.
“I hope, Sir Eustace, that you are not seriously annoyed?”
“My dear fellow,” I said, “I don’t mind telling you here and now that you’ve blinking well torn it!”