“Looks after a pretty girl, coughs in the lift—all that sort of thing, eh?” Peter Ruff asked.
She nodded.
“Disgusting!” she exclaimed, with emphasis.
Peter Ruff sighed, and glanced at the clock. The existence of Mr. Vincent Cawdor seemed to pass out of his mind.
“It is nearly one o’clock,” he said. “Where do you usually lunch, Violet?”
“It depends upon my appetite,” she answered, carelessly. “Most often at an A B C.”
“To-day,” Peter Ruff said, “you will be extravagant—at my expense.”
“I had a poor breakfast,” Miss Brown remarked, complacently.
“You will leave at once,” Peter Ruff said, “and you will go to the French Cafe at the Milan. Get a table facing the courtyard, and towards the hotel side of the room. Keep your eyes open and tell me exactly what you see.”
She looked at him with parted lips. Her eyes were full of eager questioning.