"Thursday, then, at eight o'clock. At the Berkeley. And since this is a business deal I shall expect you to be punctual. The fee will go down one guinea for every minute I'm kept waiting."
She tossed the stub of her cigarette across the room into the empty fireplace.
"Well, now we've finished talking about business can't we enjoy ourselves? I was hoping we'd have a chance after the inquest, but Algy hustled me away before I could even look round. They were all as mad as hornets, and I can't blame them. After all, you did make rather an ass of yourself, didn't you?"
"Do you really think I was just playing the fool?" he asked curiously.
"I mean trying to make out that Johnny had been murdered and Algy set fire to the house and so on. I mean, it was all so ridiculous, wasn't it?"
This time he knew beyond doubt that her artlessness was not so naive as it seemed. Her chatter was just a little too quick; besides, he had seen her face at one stage of the inquest.
He paused to consider his reply for a moment. If she knew what he had seen in London, it might startle something out of her. He felt that the move must be made with a fine hand.
He had no chance to make it in that way.
There was a sound of footsteps descending stairs, reaching the entrance of the lounge. Simon glanced over his shoulder; and then he rose leisurely to his feet.
"It's time you were getting ready, my dear—"