"That's exactly what I do need," she said.
He poured out the last of the wine, and she sipped it and put the glass down again.
"It's not really my nerves," she said, talking very quickly. "We modern girls have nerves of iron, you know, and we only swoon when we think a man needs a little encouragement. The point is, if I'd heard that Johnny had been killed in a railway accident I should have been terribly sorry whenever I thought about it, but I don't suppose I should have thought about it terribly often. You see, that would have been just one of those things that happen, and it would have been all over, and it wouldn't really have been anything to do with me."
"But you invited him down to Whiteways, and that makes it different."
She nodded feverishly.
"Of course, I told you that, didn't I?"
"The idea was that you were to get a fur coat if Johnny could be persuaded to keep his mouth shut," Simon pursued her ruthlessly. "He has been persuaded to keep his mouth shut. Do you get your fur coat?"
Her fingers tightened on the stem of her wineglass. Her face had gone very pale, but her eyes were burning.
"That's a filthy thing to say."
"Murder is a moderately filthy subject," answered the Saint brutally. "You can't play with it and keep your little girlie ribbons clean. Haven't you realized that yet?"