Well, he met
me in London the Sunday after Greyle's death, and I showed him the
papers which were in Greyle's pocket-book. And--now this, of course, was
where it was very wicked in me--and him--though we've tried to make up
for it today, anyhow--we fixed up what I suppose you two gentlemen would
call a conspiracy. My husband had a brother, an actor--not up to much,
nor of much experience--who had been brought up in the States and who was
then in town, doing nothing. We took him into confidence, coached him up
in everything, furnished him with all the papers in the pocket-book, and
resolved to pass him off as the real Marston Greyle."
Mr. Petherton stirred angrily in his chair and turned a protesting face
on Sir Cresswell.
"Apart from being irregular," he exclaimed, "this is altogether
outrageous! This woman is openly boasting of conspiracy and--"
"You're wrong!" said Addie. "I'm not boasting--I'm explaining. You ought
to be obliged to me. And--"
"If Mrs. Andrius--to give the lady her real name--cares to unburden her
secrets to us, I really don't see why we shouldn't listen to them, Mr.
Petherton," observed Vickers. "It simplifies matters greatly."
"That's what I say," agreed Addie. "I'm done with all this and I want to
clear things up, whatever comes of it. Well--I say we fixed that up with
my brother-in-law."
"His name--his real name, if you please," inquired Vickers.
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