‘Used to go down there a lot when Mr Frettlby lived there,’ he said, sipping his wine. ‘I know every room in it.’
‘You’d be invaluable as a burglar,’ said Kitty, a little contemptuously, as she looked at his slim figure.
‘I dare say,’ replied Barty, who took the compliment in good faith. ‘Some night I’ll climb up to your room and give you a fright.’
‘Shows how much you know,’ retorted Miss Marchurst. ‘My room is next to Madame’s on the ground floor.’
‘I know,’ said Barty, sagely, nodding his head. ‘It used to be a boudoir—nice little room. By the way, where is Mrs Villiers to-night?’
‘She’s not well,’ replied Kitty, yawning behind her fan, for she was weary of Barty and his small talk. ‘She’s very worried.’
‘Over money matters, I suppose?’
Kitty laughed and shook her head.
‘Hardly,’ she answered.
‘I dare say,’ replied Barty, ‘she’s awfully rich. You know, I’m in the bank where her account is, and I know all about her. Rich! oh, she is rich! Lucky thing for that French fellow if he marries her.’