"I am seldom alone, my dear Mrs. Musgrave," he said.
She turned the conversation. "Where have you been living since your retirement?"
"I took a place in England in the hunting-country—quite a decent place."
"Ah? Where?"
"About two miles from a little town called Weir." Hunt-Goring spoke deliberately, still watching his hostess's slim fingers at work.
"Why!" Swiftly Daisy looked up. "That is where the Ratcliffes live—Jim
Ratcliffe and Olga. Olga is out here now with Nick. Did you know?"
Hunt-Goring nodded to each sentence. "I know it all. I know Jim Ratcliffe, and a burly old monster he is. I know Nick of Redlands—also the sedate Mrs. Nick. And, last but not least, I know—Olga."
He spoke mockingly; his look was derisive.
"I had no idea you had been living there," said Daisy.
"I was the hornet in the hive," said Hunt-Goring with his lazy laugh.
"It's rather a hole of a place, though I liked The Warren well enough.
I'm not going back there. You can tell Olga so with my love."