“Are you sure?” he asked suspiciously.
“You don’t believe my word yet, do you?”
“I did not say that.”
“No, but really you do not.”
He gave a slight shrug.
“My friend is an Irish girl,” Rosina went on placidly. “I do love her so. We shall have such a good time being together next week.”
“You are sure that she is not English?” the man asked, with a little touch of sarcasm in his inflection.
“If you could hear her speak you could tell that from her accent.”
Von Ibn took out his case and lit another cigarette.
“What hotel do you go at in Zurich?” he asked presently.