Wingate
had swung around towards his companion, and there was something
terrifying in his attitude.
"You scoundrel!" he exclaimed.
Dredlinton drew a little farther back and kept his finger upon the bell.
"Look here," he said viciously, "you may as well drop those heroics. I am
not talking at random. My wife was seen in your arms, in your rooms at
the Milan Court, with her dressing case on the table, last night, by
little Flossie Lane, your latest conquest in the musical comedy world.
She spent the night at the Milan."
"It's a lie!" Wingate declared, with cold fury. "How the devil could
Flossie Lane see anything of the sort? She was nowhere near my rooms."
"Oh, yes, she was!" Dredlinton assured him. "She just looked in--one look
was quite enough. Didn't you hear the door slam?"
"My God!" Wingate muttered, with a sudden instinct of recollection.
"Perhaps you wonder why she came?" the other continued. "I will tell
you. I followed my wife to the Milan--I thought it might be worth while.
I saw her enter the lift and come up to your room. While I was hesitating
as to what to do, I met Flossie. Devilish clever idea of mine! I
determined to kill two birds with one stone. I told her you'd been
enquiring for her--that you were alone in your rooms and would like to
see her. She went up like a two-year-old.
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