She hesitated, then, stepping aside, motioned him to come in.
Sweeting entered the hall happily. He followed her into a big, luxuriously furnished sitting-room that immediately told him she had much more money than he had imagined. It was possible, he thought as he looked around, that she was the mistress of some wealthy man. But that wasn’t his affair. The point was she was living in style and must have money.
He took off his hat and settled himself in the most comfortable chair in the room, holding Leo on his lap.
“You’ll excuse my eye. I had an unfortunate accident,” he said. “Are you fond of dogs, Miss Dorman? This little fellow is a remarkable specimen.” He gently stroked Leo’s silky coat. “Such a companion. Do you have a dog?”
Gilda stood facing him. Her face hard.
“What do you want?” she said curtly. “What have you got to tell me?”
Sweeting lifted his shoulders.
“Would it be inexcusable of me if I asked for a whisky and soda?” he asked hopefully.
“You’re getting nothing here!” Gilda snapped. “What have you to tell me?”
Sweeting’s fat face hardened. There was no reason to be polite to women unless they were exceptionally polite to him. When dealing with men he had to be more careful. Some of them, like that Holland fellow, could be violent, but there was no fear of that with a woman.