“Oh, never mind about that.” Angel airily waved the matter aside. “Sit down here.”
The man hesitated, then obeyed, and dropped into a seat between the two.
Angel looked round. So far as any danger of being overheard went, they were as much alone as though they sat in the center of a desert.
“Jimmy”—Angel held him by the arm—“you said just now you’d got a march when you admitted you’d seen old Reale’s puzzle-verse. It wasn’t the march you thought it was, for I had seen the will—and so has Connor here.”
He looked the heavy man straight in the eye.
“There is somebody else that benefits under that will besides you two. It is a girl.” He did not take his eyes from Connor. “I was curious to see that young lady,” Angel went on, “and this afternoon I drove to Clapham to interview her.”
He stopped again. Connor made no reply, but kept his eyes fixed on the floor.
“I went to interview her, and found that she had mysteriously disappeared this very afternoon.”
Again he stopped.
“A gentleman called to see her, with a message from—who do you think, Connor?” he asked.