“Yes. Well, I shouldn’t talk about it, you know. When he’s up again take him right away, somewhere quiet. You’ll live with him yourself, of course. That’s all safe. And I—well, I shan’t forget the case. Good-bye.”
“Oh, Mr. Fortune——” she started up and caught his hands.
“Yes, yes, good-bye,” said Reggie, and got away. But as Warnham let them out he felt Warnham’s lean hand grip into his arm.
“A little homely comfort would be grateful,” Reggie murmured. “Come and have tea at the Academies, Eden. They keep a pleasing muffin.” He sank down in his car at Eden’s side with a happy sigh.
But Eden’s brow was troubled. “Do you think the child will be safe now, Fortune?” he said.
“Oh, I think so. If it was Warnham or Mrs. Warnham who poisoned him——”
“Good Lord! You don’t think that?”
“They are frightened,” said Reggie placidly, “I frightened ’em quite a lot. And if it was somebody else—the child is going away and Mrs. Warnham will be eating and drinking everything he eats and drinks. The small Gerald will be all right. There remains only the little problem, who was it?”
“It’s a diabolical affair. Who could want to kill that child?”
“Diabolical is the word,” Reggie agreed. “And a little simple food is what we need,” and they went into the club and through a long tea he talked to Eden of rock gardens and Chinese nursery rhymes.