It seemed hours to Elk before the meal was finished. The girl was going back to Gordon’s house to look at catalogues which Dick had ordered to be sent to Harley Terrace by telephone.
“You won’t be coming to the office?” asked Elk.
“No: do you think it is necessary?”
“I wanted to see you for ten minutes,” drawled the other, “perhaps a quarter of an hour.”
“Come back to the house.”
“Well, I wasn’t thinking of coming back to the house,” said Elk. “Perhaps you’ve got a lady’s drawing-room. I remember seeing one as I came through the marble hall, and Miss Bennett would not mind——”
“Why, of course not,” she said. “If I’m in the way, I’ll do anything you wish. Show me your lady’s drawing-room.”
When Dick had come back, the detective was smoking, his elbows on the table, his thin, brown hands clasped under his chin, and he was examining, with the eye of a connoisseur, the beautifully carved ceiling.
“What’s the trouble, Elk?” said Gordon as he sat down.
“The man under sentence of death is Ray Bennett,” said Elk without preliminary.