Randall gave his soft laugh, and went over to a table against the wall where the whiskey decanter stood, and mixed two drinks. He came back with them, and gave one to Hannasyde. “Well, Superintendent?” he said.
Hannasyde sat down again. “You had better tell me the rest of it. If I choose to bring it up against you at a prosecution, it will only be my word against yours,” he added sarcastically.
“I shouldn't dream of contradicting you,” said Randall in his most dulcet voice.
“When did you see Rumbold?”
“Today, when I left Grinley Heath.”
“Where? Not at his home?”
“No, certainly not. At his office. He was quite prepared for my visit. We went out to lunch together, and over lunch he told me what I have told you, and I described to him my part in the affair, and gave him my word that I would do what lay in my power to keep the truth from Mrs Rumbold.”
There was not a trace of expression in Randall's voice, but Hannasyde cast one shrewd glance at him, and said in a softer tone: “Not a very pleasant lunch, Mr Matthews.”
Randall said dryly: “That, Superintendent, is putting it mildly.”
Hannasyde nodded. “I can guess how you must feel about it.”