“Oh, I had to get rid of her very sharp,” said Daisy. “She served me a very nasty trick after I’d been so good to her. Besides, I’ve taken up with a fellow. Bert Saunders. He does the boxing for Crime Illustrated.”
“You told me I was like him,” Michael reminded her.
“That’s right. I remember now. I’m living down off Judd Street in a flat. Why don’t you come round and see me there?”
“I will,” Michael promised.
“Wasn’t Bert Saunders the fellow who was keeping Kitty Metcalfe?” asked Barnes.
“That’s right. Only he gave her the push after she hit Maudie Clive over the head with a port-wine glass in the Half Moon upstairs.”
“I knew Kitty,” said Barnes, shaking his head to imply that acquaintance with Kitty had involved a wider experience than fell to most men. “What’s happened to her?”
“Oh, Gard, don’t ask me,” said Daisy. “She’s got in with a fellow who kept a fried-fish place in the Caledonian Road, and I’ve never even seen her since.”
“And what’s happened to Dolly?” asked Michael.
“Oh, good job if that love-boy of hers does punch into her. Silly cow! She ought to know better. Fancy going off as soft as you like with that big-mouthed five-to-two, and after I’d just given her six of my new handkerchiefs.”