What was Michael Brixan? He was not her idea of a detective, and why was he staying in Chichester? Could it be . . . ? She flushed at the thought and was angry with herself. It was hardly likely that a man who was engaged in unravelling a terrible crime would linger for the sake of being near to her. Was the Head-Hunter, the murderer, living near Chichester? She dropped her manuscript to her knees at the appalling thought.
The voice of her landlady aroused her.
“Will you see Mr. Foss, miss?”
She jumped up from the bed and opened the door.
“Where is he?”
“I’ve put him in the parlour,” said the woman, who had grown a little more respectful of late. Possibly the rise of the extra to stardom was generally known in that small town, which took an interest in the fortunes of its one ewe lamb of a production company.
Lawley Foss was standing by the window, looking out, when she came into the room.
“Good afternoon, Adele,” he said genially. (He had never called her by her Christian name before, even if he had known it.)
“Good afternoon, Mr. Foss,” she said with a smile. “I’m sorry to hear that you have left us.”
Foss lifted his shoulders in a gesture of indifference.