It came from the dark shadows of the room behind her, and it
was spoken through the voice of Durrance.
"Ethne, where do you think I heard that overture last played?"
Ethne was roused with a start to the consciousness that Durrance was in
the room, and she answered like one shaken suddenly out of sleep.
"Why, you told me. At Ramelton, when you first came to Lennon House."
"I have heard it since, though it was not played by you. It was not
really played at all. But a melody of it and not even that really, but a
suggestion of a melody, I heard stumbled out upon a zither, with many
false notes, by a Greek in a bare little whitewashed cafe, lit by one
glaring lamp, at Wadi Halfa."
"This overture?" she said. "How strange!"
"Not so strange after all. For the Greek was Harry Feversham."
So the answer had come. Ethne had no doubt that it was an answer. She
sat very still in the moonlight; only had any one bent over her with
eyes to see, he would have discovered that her eyelids were closed.
There followed a long silence. She did not consider why Durrance, having
kept this knowledge secret so long, should speak of it now. She did not
ask what Harry Feversham was doing that he must play the zither in a
mean cafe at Wadi Halfa.
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