“Run along now and get the money,” she said. “Come and see me when it's all over.”
Tavernake left her with a long breath of relief and made his way towards the Strand. At the corner of Wellington Street he came face to face with Pritchard. They stopped at once. There seemed to be something embarrassing about this meeting. Pritchard patted him familiarly on the shoulder.
“How goes it, old man?” he asked.
“I am all right,” Tavernake answered, somewhat awkwardly. “How are you?”
“I guess I'd be the better for a drink,” Pritchard declared. “Come along. Pretty well done up the other night, weren't we? We'll step into the American Bar here and try a gin fizz.”
They found themselves presently perched upon two high stools in a deserted corner of the bar to which Pritchard had led the way. Tavernake sipped his drink tentatively.
“I should like,” he said, “to ask you a question or two about Wednesday night.”
Pritchard nodded.
“Go right ahead,” he invited.
“You seem to take the whole affair as a sort of joke,” Tavernake remarked.