She nodded.
“Yes, I saw him. I was on my way to Goodwood Park—a whole party of us in a char-à-banc—and I saw him for a moment walking along the side-walk. He looked desperately ill and worried. He was just coming out of a stationer’s shop when I saw him; he had a newspaper under his arm and a letter in his hand.”
“Where was the store?” he asked quickly.
She gave him the address, and he jotted it down.
“You didn’t see him again?”
She shook her head.
“Is anything really very badly wrong?” she asked anxiously. “I’ve often heard mother say that Uncle Francis was very extravagant, and a little unscrupulous. Has he been in trouble?”
“Yes,” admitted Michael, “he has been in trouble, but nothing that you need worry about. You’re a great film actress, aren’t you?”
In spite of her anxiety she laughed.
“The only chance I have of being a great film actress is for you to say so in your paper.”