“Dear me! Dunford seems to be emigrating to London!”
“Nothing for you, Hilda. Did she mention her father?”
“She told me he was dead. He was a journalist. They used to live in Glasgow. I had better not say more.”
“Thanks, you’ve told me all I want to know about Miss Carstairs—for the present. Now what can you tell me about the mysterious Mr. Symington, whose head you instructed me to punch on his calling here?”
“Oh, has he been?” she exclaimed.
“Patience! I may be wrong, but I fancy he is still in Dunford. In fact, I’ve just dispatched a messenger—”
“Nonsense! The man’s in London—or was this morning!”
“Indeed! Why didn’t you say so this morning?” Risk asked without irritation.
“I thought that you would understand that he was—was after us.”