So I can't say with authority what happened between Simpson and Columbine when they met. But Simpson and I had a cigarette together afterwards and certain things came out; enough to make it plain that she must have enjoyed herself.
"Oh, I say, old chap," he began jauntily, "do you know—match, thanks—er—whereabouts is Finsbury Circus?"
"You're too old to go to a circus now, Simpson. Come and have a day at the Polytechnic instead."
"Don't be an ass; it's a place like Oxford Circus. I suppose it's in the City somewhere? I wonder," he murmured to himself, "what she would be doing in the City at eleven o'clock in the morning."
"Perhaps her rich uncle is in a bank, and she wants to shoot him. I wish you'd tell me what you're talking about."
Simpson took off his mask and spectacles and wiped his brow.
"Dear old chap," he said in a solemn voice, "in the case of a woman one cannot tell even one's best friend. You know how it is."
"Well, if there's going to be a duel you should have chosen some quieter spot than Finsbury Circus. The motor-buses distract one's aim."
Simpson was silent for a minute or two. Then a foolish smile flitted across his face, to be followed suddenly by a look of alarm.
"Don't do anything that your mother wouldn't like," I said warningly.