The Colonel, frowning over the dummy she had laid down for him, glanced at his own cards again. "Bless my soul, did I pull out that club? Thanks, partner." He picked the club up again and followed suit. The third player seemedd to be wool-gathering. The Colonel said impatiently: "Come on, Roote!"
The doctor, who had been looking at Charles, started. "Sorry, sorry! What's led?" He played, and again looked at Charles. "Didn't know you'd struck up a friendship with Duval, Malcolm."
"I shouldn't describe my dealings with him exactly as a friendship," Charles answered. "I allowed myself to be inveigled into buying one of his pictures, and since then he's been trying hard to make me buy another. All right, Bowers, I'll come."
He followed the butler out, and went across the hall to the study.
The artist was standing peering out of the window into the darkness. He started round as the door opened, and Charles saw that he was in one of his most nervous moods. No sooner was the door shut than he said hurriedly: 'M'sieur, you permit that I draw the curtains?"
"Certainly, if you like," Charles replied.
"I must not be seen here," Duval said, pulling the curtains across the window. "Once I thought I heard a step behind me, but when I looked there was no one. I do not think I am followed here, but I am not sure. Sometimes I hear noises, but perhaps they are in my head. For it is very bad, m'sieur, ah, but very bad!"
"I'm sorry," Charles said. "Now what is it you want to see me about?"
The artist drew closer to him. "There is no one outside? You are sure? No one can hear?"
"No, no one."