“Yes,” he said. “I have someone with me.”
She said, “A man telephoned and—”
“I know. He’s here with me,” Dr. Alftmont said. “Won’t you come in this way, Mr. Lam?”
He ushered me into a living-room. The furniture was expensive but quiet. The drapes, carpet, and decorations all harmonized in a quiet blend of colour.
The woman’s voice said, “Charles, let me talk with you a moment, please.”
Dr. Alftmont said to me, “Excuse me a moment,” and went back down the corridor towards the stairs. I heard low-voiced conversation. It kept up for four or five minutes. Then I heard her asking something of Dr. Alftmont. She kept pleading. He made short answers in a voice which sounded like courteous but firm negatives.
Steps coming down the corridor again; this time there were two people approaching. I got up out of my chair as the woman entered the room. Dr. Alftmont, a step behind her, said, “Dear, may I present Mr. Lam. Mr. Lam, this is Mrs. Alftmont.”
The accent on the “Mrs.” was belligerent.
She had kept her figure remarkably well. She was somewhere in the forties, but she moved with easy grace. The hazel eyes were steady and frank. I bowed and said, “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Alftmont.”
She came towards me and gave me her hand. She’d put on a dark blue dress which harmonized with her coloring and set off her figure. Something about my telephone call had made her get up and dress. I’d have gambled she was in bed when I’d called.