“Oh!” She shuddered. “Why do you look at me like that?”
Reggie bent suddenly closer, and as suddenly sat up again. Then he laughed. “Like what, my dear?”
She stared at him and her lip quivered. “You—you! Oh, do you think I can be mad?”
Reggie shook his head. “Let’s begin quite at the beginning. Let’s preserve absolute calm. You dined with Miss Bolton last night alone? After dinner you went to her boudoir? That would be about nine?”
“Yes, yes. Mr. Ford came just after the coffee.”
“Ah! And who is Mr. Ford?”
May Weston blushed abundantly. “We—he has been here a good deal,” she stammered. “Oh, Dr. Fortune, it isn’t his fault.”
“Young or old, rich or poor—what is he?”
“Of course he’s young. I suppose he’s rich. His father makes engines or something in Leeds, and he is in the London office.”
“Sounds solid,” Reggie agreed. “And why does Mr. Ford call at nine p.m.?”