It was dated Paris and was from the American’s secretary.
“Feared Mr. Tilmet has contracted measles. Will not be able to arrive in London for another fortnight.”
“Thank God for measles!” wailed Diana.
Bobbie wiped his streaming forehead.
“I’ve a good mind to take the remainder of this money away,” he said, “I don’t like it being in the house.”
For answer, she opened the drawer of the desk and took out the black-muzzled Browning.
“Burglars are my specialty,” she said.
“Would you mind putting that lethal weapon away?” said Bobbie. “What a bloodthirsty little devil you are!”
“I am,” said Diana. “There’s murder in my bones at this particular moment. Yes, Eleanor?”
“Are you going to see Mr. Superbus?”