“Where have you been?”
She faced him with a bold stare and said:—
“I got home about half-past two, and I took another room, partly because I didn’t want to disturb you, and partly—you know why.”
“What number was your room?”
“Forty-four.”
From where they sat Mendel could see the keyboard in the concierge’s lodge. There were only forty rooms in the hotel.
“Have you had breakfast?” asked Logan, forcing himself to believe her.
“Hours ago. In bed,” she replied. “I paid for it and the bed.”
“Why did you do that?” he snapped.
She caught Mendel’s eyes fixed on her, eager to see her trapped, and she smiled insolently as she replied:—