“Fine,” I said.
The butler brought us cocktails in a little cubbyhole fixed up with guns hung on the walls, a few shooting trophies, a pipe rack, and a couple of easy-chairs. It was one place in the house where no one was allowed to go without a special invitation from Ashbury, his one hideaway from the continual whine of his wife’s voice.
We sipped the cocktails and talked generalities for a minute, then Ashbury said, “You’re getting along pretty well with Alta.”
“I was supposed to win her confidence, wasn’t I?”
“Yes. You’ve done more than that. She keeps looking at you whenever you’re in the room.”
I took another sip of my cocktail.
He said, “Alta’s first cheque was on the first. The second one was on the tenth. If there was to have been a third one, it would have been on the twentieth. That was yesterday.”
I said, very casually, “Then the fourth one would be due on the thirtieth.”
He looked me over. “Alta was out last night.”
“Yes. She went to a movie.”