"My wife and I have not been living together lately," he stammered.
"Indeed!" The piercing eyes seemed to grow more piercing, the long upper lip to become longer.
"Yes," Crichton hesitated—it is so difficult to invent a plausible story on the spur of the moment. "In fact, I met her quite unexpectedly in Newhaven."
"In Newhaven?"
"Yes. I have just arrived from France," continued Crichton more fluently. An idea was shaping itself in his mind. "I was most astonished to meet my wife in England as I had been looking for her in Paris for the last week."
"I don't understand."
"My wife is unfortunately mentally unbalanced. For the last few months she has been confined in an asylum." Crichton spoke with increasing assurance.
"Where was this asylum?"
"In France."
"Yes, but where? France is a big place."