Martin crossed the room to Joan and sat upon the couch beside her.
"Didn't I see you in London, Miss Whitworth, on Monday afternoon?" he asked.
Joan met his gaze steadily.
"Did you? It was possible. I was in London on Monday. Where did you think you saw me?"
"Coming out of a picture gallery in Green Street."
Joan did not flinch, nor drop her eyes from his.
"Yes, you saw me," she replied. Then with a challenge in her voice she added distinctly, so that the words reached, as they were meant to reach, every one in that room. "I was with Mario Escobar."
The room suddenly grew still. Two years ago, Martin Hillyard reflected, Harold Jupp or Dennis would have chaffed her roundly about her conquest, and she would have retorted with good humour. Now, no one spoke, but a little sigh, a little movement of uneasiness came from Millie Splay. Joan did not take her eyes from Hillyard's face. But the blood mounted slowly over her throat and cheeks.
"Well?" she asked, and the note of challenge was a trifle more audible in her quiet voice. And since he was challenged, Hillyard answered:
"He is a German spy."