Yes, the girl was in deep mourning; her black, silk-clad ankles showed that. It was a long shot, but Bundle was convinced that her idea was right. She drew a long breath.
“Look here,” she said, “are you by any chance Loraine Wade?”
Loraine’s eyes opened wide.
“Yes, I am. How clever of you to know. We’ve never met, have we?”
Bundle shook her head.
“I wrote to you yesterday, though. I’m Bundle Brent.”
“It was so very kind of you to send me Gerry’s letter,” said Loraine. “I’ve written to thank you. I never expected to see you here.”
“I’ll tell you why I’m here,” said Bundle. “Did you know Ronny Devereux?”
Loraine nodded.
“He came over the day that Gerry—you know. And he’s been to see me two or three times since. He was one of Gerry’s greatest friends.”
“I know. Well—he’s dead.”
Loraine’s lips parted in surprise.
“ Dead! But he always seemed so fit.”
Bundle narrated the events of the preceding day as briefly as possible. A look of fear and horror came into Loraine’s face.
“Then it is true. It is true.”
“What’s true?”