She has plenty of money, more money
than she has ever had the control of before in her life, but no
husband."
"So far, I don't see anything remarkable about that," Tavernake
interposed.
"That may or may not be," Pritchard answered, drily. "This
creature, Wenham Gardner--I hate to call him a man--was her
abject slave--up till the time they reached London, at any rate.
He would never have quit of his own accord. He stopped quite
suddenly communicating with all his friends. None of their
cables, even, were answered."
"Why don't you go and ask Mrs. Gardner where he is?" Tavernake
demanded bluntly.
"I have already," Pritchard declared, "taken that liberty. With
tears in her eyes, she assured me that after some slight quarrel,
in which she admits that she was the one to blame, her husband
walked out of the house where they were staying, and she has not
seen him since. She was quite ready with all the particulars,
and even implored me to help find him."
"I cannot imagine," Tavernake said, "why any one should
disbelieve her."
The detective smiled.
"There are a few little outside circumstances," he remarked,
looking at the ash of his cigar. "In the first place, how do you
suppose that this young Wenham Gardner spent the last week of his
stay in New York?"
"How should I know?" Tavernake replied, impatiently.
"By realizing every cent of his property on which he could lay
his hands," the detective continued. "It isn't at any time an
easy business, and the Gardner interest is spread out in many
directions, but he must have sailed with something like forty
thousand pounds in hard cash.
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