"Well—" she began, determined if possible that he at least should never know the truth.
"Yes?" he interjected eagerly.
"Directly after lunch the day before yesterday," Cleopatra pursued, "—I must tell you we had curried chicken for lunch,—I felt a heavy sensation in the pit of my stomach. I felt sick and giddy, my hands grew cold, and about tea-time, I was walking in this very room, and my knees gave way."
He looked at her beneath lowered brows, as he tugged at his mesh of hair. "So you think it is all a fit of indigestion," he said.
She wondered whether he knew that she was lying. "Yes," she said.
There was a pause, and he looked away from her.
"Remember, Miss Delarayne," he muttered after a while, "that it will be difficult to start me off on a false scent, even if it is as savoury as curried chicken."
Cleopatra started a little at this remark; she noticed his enigmatic smile, and her brows twitched nervously.
"I don't see what you mean," she stammered.
"I mean," said Lord Henry, his head still bowed, and his free hand picking imaginary atoms of fluff from his trousers, "that if you tell me the truth, our two heads may make some progress. If you deliberately mislead me, although the task will even then not be beyond the wit of man, it will be a little more difficult."