"Yes, in my spare time," said Ashley. "Sit down."
Hazlewood sat and began to take off his gloves.
"You've got a queer neighbour upstairs, that fellow Foster," he said. "He told me he'd made your acquaintance too."
"He's only here for a day or two, and I had to be civil."
"Funny my meeting him. I used to come across him in the States. Don't you be too civil."
"I know he's no great catch," said Ashley.
"He lived by his wits out there, and very badly at that. In fact he'd have gone under altogether if he'd been left to himself."
Ashley felt that Bowdon's eyes were on him, but Bowdon took no share in the talk.
"Who looked after him then?" he asked.
"His wife," said Hazlewood. "She used to walk on, or get a small part, or sing at the low-class halls, or anything you like. Handsome girl in a coarse style. Daisy Macpherson, that's what they called her. She kept him more or less going; he always did what she told him." He paused, and added with a reflective smile, "I mean she said she was his wife, and liked to be called Mrs. Foster in private life."