Petrovska, an adventuress not fit to touch the hem of your skirt. You are already involved. Take the advice of a man old enough to be your father, and confide in us."
She had risen, and her slim form towered over the seated detective. She seemed about to resent his words, but suddenly burst into a ripple of laughter.
"You would be offensive if you were not amusing, Mr. Foyle. Don't you think my help would be a little superfluous, since you know so much?" she asked with a quietness that robbed the remark of some of its bitterness. "I think you had better go now."
"I am sorry," said Foyle. "You may regret that you did not take my advice."
She herself held the door open for them to pass out. To the surprise of Fairfield, she held out her hand to him while ignoring the detective.
"Come back alone as soon as you can," she whispered. "I want to speak to you."
Foyle had apparently neither heeded nor heard. Yet, as soon as they were out of eye-shot of the house, he turned to Fairfield.
"She asked you to go back?"
"Eh?" The baronet was startled. "Yes. How did you know? Did you overhear her?"
"No, but I hoped she would when I took you there. That was the whole reason of our visit. I didn't expect to get her to say or admit anything."