"You laid a trap on behalf of the police, then?"
Mr. Thomson knocked the ash from his cigar.
"That might be considered the truth," he admitted.
"And the minute book?"
"Concerning the minute book," he replied, "I have nothing to say."
Rose drew her chair a little nearer towards him. The rose-shaded electric light shone upon her fair hair, her wonderful eyes, her piquant face with its alluring smile. She leaned forward towards our host, and it seemed to me that the soft entreaty in her tone and the pleading of her eyes were irresistible.
"Mr. Thomson," she said, "I am a woman, and I am desperately, insatiably curious. I must know—please tell me—what are we—you and we three? Your confederates, I suppose we are? Are we on the side of the police or the criminal, the informer, or do we come somewhere between? I must adapt my conscience to our position."
Mr. Thomson was unshaken. He looked at Rose just as though she had been an ordinary human being.
"That," he said, "may be put in the category of questions which you will be at liberty to ask me when our agreement comes to an end. Shall we call it Conundrum Number 1? By the bye, if it is any convenience to you to know your movements in advance, I may tell you that you will open at Bath next week."