“She lost a lot of money to you at bridge the other night.”
“That’s common knowledge too, Mr. Stickney. Everyone in the room knew that. Are these your wonderful revelations?”
The quite perceptible ring of disappointment in her tone touched Freddie on the raw. He was put on his metal, just as she intended.
“Wait a moment,” he begged. “Let’s take things as they come. She didn’t pay you at the time? No. She gave you a cheque. I was watching her face closely just then. I’m a bit of physiognomist, you know. It was plain as print to me. That cheque was no good, Mrs. Caistor Scorton.”
Mrs. Caistor Scorton regarded him with a rather malicious smile.
“Indeed, Mr. Stickney?” She laughed. “Then how do you account for the fact that the cheque was met when it was presented? I paid it in immediately and my bank collected it at once.”
Freddie Stickney held up his hand, asking permission to interrupt her.
“Yes,” he said, rapidly, “I suppose the cheque was met next day. But all the same, she hadn’t a spare £200 in the world that night. I know the signs: you can’t deceive me. She hadn’t the cash that night. But she had it next day. What happened in between?”
“How should I know?”
Freddie took no notice. His question had been merely a rhetorical one. He continued, marking each point with emphasis.