“No.”
The fist pounded again.
“You fool,” he said savagely, in a voice that reached no further than her ears. “What do you think that skin we love to touch would be like after ten years in the pen?”
He took the purse from her hand and said, “Open the door.” Then he went into the kitchen.
Lieutenant Wendel made his entrance with the ponderous elaboration of a man who knew that he had the last ounce of authority behind him and nothing on earth to hurry for. Certainty smoothed down the buzz-saw edges of his voice and invested him with the steam-roller impermeability of an entire government bureau on two feet.
“I’m from the Police Department, Miss Roger. I’m sure Mr Templar has told you about me. I’ve come to trouble you for Lady Offchurch’s pearl necklace.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
“Of course not.” His confidence was almost paternal. “However, it hasn’t gone out by the front since you came in, and I don’t think it’s gone out by the back. We’ll just make sure.”
He crossed the room heavily, opened a window, and whistled.
This was the moment that Simon Templar chose to come back.