“Not very much. Barbara and she have exchanged visits once or twice, but they don’t seem to see much of each other.” “And what about Wallingford? Does he seem to have been much disturbed by Miller’s descent on him?” I had to admit that he was in a state bordering on panic. “And what did Mrs. Monkhouse think of the forged orders on Dimsdale’s headed paper?” “He hadn’t disclosed that. She thinks that he bought the cocaine at a druggist’s in the ordinary way, and I didn’t think it necessary to undeceive her.” “No. The least said the soonest mended. Did you gather that she sees much of Wallingford?” “Yes, rather too much. He was haunting her flat almost daily until she gave him a hint not to make his visits too noticeable.” “Why do you suppose he was haunting her flat? So far as you can judge, Mayfield—that is in the strictest confidence, you understand—does there seem to be anything between them beyond ordinary friendliness?” “Not on her side, certainly, but on his—yes, undoubtedly. His devotion to her amounts almost to infatuation, and has for a long time past. Of course, she realizes his condition, and though he is rather a nuisance to her, she takes a very kindly and indulgent view of his vagaries.” “Naturally, as any well-disposed woman would. I suppose you didn’t see anything of him yesterday?” Of course I had to relate the meeting in Kensington Gardens, and I could see by the way Thorndyke looked at me that he was wondering why I had not mentioned the matter before. “It almost looks,” said he, “as if he had followed you there. Was there anything in his manner of approach that seemed to support that idea?” “I think there was, for I saw him at some distance,” and here I felt bound to describe Wallingford’s peculiar tactics. “But,” said Thorndyke, “why was he looking about behind him? He must have known that you were in front.” “It seems,” I explained, feebly, “that he has some ridiculous idea that he is being watched and followed.” “Ha!” said Thorndyke. “Now I wonder who he supposes is watching and following him.” “I fancy he suspects you,” I replied. And so the murder was out, with the additional fact that I had not been very ready with my information. Thorndyke, however, made no comment on my reticence beyond a steady and significant look at me. “So,” said he, “he suspects me of suspecting him. Well, he is giving us every chance. But I think, Mayfield, you would do well to put Mrs. Monkhouse on her guard. If Wallingford makes a public parade of his feelings towards her, he may put dangerous ideas into the head of Mr. Superintendent Miller. You must realize that Miller is looking for a motive for the assumed murder. And if it comes to his knowledge that Harold Monkhouse’s secretary was in love with Harold Monkhouse’s wife, he will think that he has found a motive that is good enough.”