"I am not mercenary," said Lady Brayle, taking the cheque carelessly, scrutinizing it with great care, and then hastily putting it in her handbag. "I do not think," again she brought out the cheque for examination before shutting it up, "I do not think that my worst enemy could call me mercenary. But one has one's rights."
"Definitely, Sophie. Nobody's denying it"
Whereupon Lady Brayle gave him a peculiar smile.
"Another point, Henry. Those photographs of me outside the gates, which by the way are not bad," she adjusted her shoulders, "were no doubt the work of Mr. MacDougall. But this strange popularity of mine, which I had never noticed before: 1 can guess it might be some of your work. Was it, Henry?" "Uh-huh."
"And why, pray, do you take such trouble on my part?" H.M. looked embarrassed. "Well, Sophie, there were a lot of reasons."
"As, for instance?"
"You used to be an A-l sport. You'd still be a human being if you'd only for the love of Esau stop thinking what's vulgar and what ain't. Most of all, I realized — only last night, it was! — why you stole the skeleton out of that clock."
Chief Inspector Masters started to speak, but checked himself.
Against the dark sky outside, the walls of this little octagonal room appeared starkly white. One of the leaded window lights, propped open, rattled at its catch in the rising wind. Masters, heretofore, had been paying small attention to the conversation; he was looking out of the window, on edge, waiting for a signal. Now, as H.M. mentioned the skeleton and the clock, it was as though someone had flung down a coiling snake.
"Ah!" said Lady Brayle, and grew rigid. "I thought we should come to some bargaining-point about your precious skeleton. Well you won't get it"