"Sure. Do you want the clock back?"
"Really, Henry." Lady Brayle seemed bewildered. "I have no interest whatever in the clock, except that I was asked to bid for it as a present for young Dr. Laurier." Her mouth tightened amid wrinkles. "And I should never allow Cicely to pay any such ridiculous price as…"
"Oh, Sophie! I'm not selling anything. It's yours if you answer me a few questions."
The other stared at him. "Questions? What questions?"
"Well," he said argumentatlvely, "when was the date you got that Willaby catalogue of the auction on Friday?"
"Really, Henry, I don't see—"
"I know you don't That's because I'm the old man. Date?"
"Everybody knows," retorted Jenny's grandmother, "that Willaby's post their catalogues from London just a week before the sale. I must have received mine," she computed, "on July 5th."
"That's what I thought But I had to be sure. Who else in this district subscribes to a Willaby catalogue?"
"Cicely, of course. And I think young Dr. Laurier. He is interested in arms and armour."