“Let’s have tea first,” he suggested.
“Then it would be too late, wouldn’t it? Hubert, you make me tired.”
Challenger laughed wildly.
“Supposing,” he said shakily, “supposing I said I was whacked—whacked to the blinkin’ wide, lame, over at the knees an’ ripe for palsy. Whose fault would that be?”
“Come on,” said Julia shortly. “We can pick up a taxi on the way.”
“Just let me have the drink,” pleaded Challenger. “Not all of it. Just——”
“When we get back,” said Julia, opening the door. “I’m going without my tea.”
With a frightful look, Hubert rose from the sofa and followed his lady out. . . .
Five minutes later the two were in South Street.
The flat, which had just been finished, took them by storm. It was ideal. Apart from its excellent style, every convenience that the wit of man can devise seemed to have been embodied in its construction. Its walls were sound-proof: so were its ceilings and floors. Its rooms were invisibly lit: it could be centrally heated at will: there were four bathrooms: the servants’ quarters were paved with rubber throughout: the telephone could be connected to a private exchange: there was even a chute to a private posting box in the common hall. Light, airy, perfectly arranged and admirably decorated, it had only come into the market the day before, and that by accident.