“It concerns your secretary⁠—”

“I know nothing about him,” I said hastily. “He foisted himself upon me in London, robbed me of valuable papers⁠—for which I shall be hauled over the coals⁠—and disappeared like a conjuring trick at Cape Town. It’s true that I was at the falls at the same time as he was, but I was at the hotel, and he was on an island. I can assure you that I never set eyes upon him the whole time that I was there.”

I paused for breath.

“You misunderstand me. It was of your other secretary that I spoke.”

“What? Pagett?” I cried, in lively astonishment. “He’s been with me eight years⁠—a most trustworthy fellow.”

My interlocutor smiled.

“We are still at cross-purposes. I refer to the lady.”

“Miss Pettigrew?” I exclaimed.