“Professional?”
“Yes;—my profession.”
The lawyer started. He was provoked with himself for doing so, but it was beyond his control. Trafford was not a man with whom it was comfortable to talk professionally—that is, from the standpoint of his profession.
“Well, be quick about it, then. I’m busy, and it’ll be a favour to cut it as short as you can.”
“You were in Millbank the evening of the tenth.”
“Well, you are short and to the point. Suppose I was?”
“What were you there for?”
“None of your business.”
Trafford chuckled. He was getting on. It was just the answer he expected.
“Now let’s stick right to the point, as you wanted me to. If I have to whip round to get to it again, you mustn’t blame me.”