“I climbed it,” I said, and took the glass. “To your dark and lovely eyes, and the figure I haven’t seen—yet.”
She stood by and watched me drink a third of it. Then she lit a cigarette with a hand that was as steady as the cliff we were talking about, took it from her red, sensual mouth and gave it to me.
Our fingers touched. Her skin felt feverish.
“Is your sister here?” I asked, and set the whisky carefully on the coffee table at my side.
She inspected her thumb again thoughtfully, then looked at me out of the corners of her eyes.
“Janet’s dead. She died two years ago,” she said.
“I’ve made a lot of discoveries since you told me that,” I said. “I know the girl your mother kept a prisoner in the sanatorium for something like two years is your sister, Janet. Shall I tell you just how much I do know?”
She made a little grimace and sat down.
“You can if you want to,” she said.
“Some of it is guess-work. Perhaps you’ll help me as I go along?” I said, settling farther down in the chair. “Janet was your father’s favourite. Both you and your mother knew he was going to leave her the bulk of his money. Janet fell in love with Sherrill, who also knew she was coming into the money. Sherrill was quite a dashing type, and dashing types appeal to you. You and he had an affair on the side, but Janet found out and broke the engagement.