She looked more closely at him.
“Oh, Mr. Broad!” she said in a more gracious tone. “I’ve been visiting a friend of mine who is rather ill.”
“So I’m told, and a nice flat your friend occupies,” he said as he fell in by her side. “I was thinking of hiring it a few days ago. These furnished apartments are difficult to find. Maybe it was a week ago—yes, it was a week ago,” he said carefully; “it was the day before you had your lamentable accident in Shepherd’s Bush.”
“I don’t quite understand you,” she said, on her guard at once.
“The truth is,” said Mr. Broad apologetically, “that I’ve been trying to get at Bron too. I’ve been making a very careful study of the prison staff for the past two months, and I’ve a list of the easy boys that has cost me a lot of money to compile. I suppose you didn’t reach the stage where you persuaded him to talk about his interesting prisoner? I tried him last week,” he went on reminiscently. “He goes to a dance club at Hammersmith, and I got acquainted with him through a girl he’s keen about—you’re not the only young love of his life, by the way.”
She laughed softly.
“What a clever man you are, Mr. Broad!” she said. “No, I’m not very interested in prisoners. By the way, who is this person you were referring to?”
“I was referring to Number Seven, who is in Pentonville Gaol,” said Mr. Broad coolly, “and I’ve got an idea he is a friend of yours.”
“Number Seven?” Her perplexity would have convinced a less hardened man than Joshua Broad. “I have an idea that that is something to do with the Frogs.”
“That is something to do with the Frogs,” agreed the other gravely, “about whom I daresay you have read. Miss Bassano, I’ll make you an offer.”