“I think it must have been eleven o’clock.” The old man hesitated. “I’m not sure. It was just before I went to bed.”
Michael could easily account for Foss’s conduct. Sir Gregory had hurried him off and told him to come back after the girl had gone.
“My little place used to be remarkable for its quietness,” said Mr. Longvale, and shook his head. “Perhaps,” turning to Knebworth, “when your picture is finished you will be so good as to allow me to see it?”
“Why, surely, Mr. Longvale.”
“I don’t know why I’m taking this tremendous interest,” chuckled the old man. “I must confess that, until a few weeks ago, film-making was a mystery to me. And even to-day it belongs to the esoteric sciences.”
Dicker thrust his head in the door.
“Will you see Miss Mendoza?” he asked.
Jack Knebworth’s expression was one of utter weariness.
“No,” he said curtly.
“She says——” began Dicker.