“All right, all right, give us a chance.” Arthur sat down gingerly on a cane-backed chair. “It’s a private sort of a matter, Mr. Carey,” he said. “Confidential, if you know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean.”
“I wouldn’t like it to go any further,” he persisted maddeningly.
“I’ve got that.”
“Well now”-he cleared his throat-“I have been given to understand by certain parties,” he said carefully, “that you, Mr. Carey, have been making certain inquiries of a confidential nature in the town.”
“Yes.”
“This afternoon you had a certain conversation with a certain woman who shall be nameless.”
“Madame Vassiotis, you mean?”
“That’s right.”
“Then why say she shall be nameless?”