"Not today. Nor tomorrow, nor any day. Where were you last night?"
François retired in his discretion.
"I went to Brighton—"
"You went to Ritti's—that—!"
He did not attempt any euphemism. Madame Ritti's elegant establishment he described in two pungent words.
"God! You're—what are you? I'm pretty tough, huh? Had my gay times and known a few of the worst. But I've drawn a line somewhere. Sault in prison and Moropulos dead—and you at Ritti's! What a louse you are!"
He stalked into the hall, shouted for François and dropped the little paper ball into his hand. François closed the door on him respectfully.
"A beast—!" said Ronnie, disgusted.