“Don’t be alarmed, Miss Dorman,” he said, with his oily smile. “I’ve come about Maurice Yarde and your brother.”
With satisfaction he watched her turn pale. Frightened women were always easy to handle.
“Who are you?” she said, still pressing the door against his foot.
“My name is Raphael Sweeting. I am a friend of your brother. He may have mentioned me.” Sweeting said. “Perhaps I might step inside? I have had a most tiring day and I would be glad to sit down.”
“You can’t come in. I can’t see you now. Please go away!”
Sweeting smiled.
“I don’t want to make myself objectionable, Miss Dorman, but I assure you it is to your advantage to hear what I have to say. I have some interesting information for you.”
The big green eyes swept over him, taking in his soiled creased suit, the three large grease stains on his tie, and the swollen, bloodshot eye the hat brim didn’t quite conceal.
“What information?”
“It’s about your brother.”