I re-read it and, finding no fault with it, I passed it over to her and she signed it. I witnessed her signature and handed the paper to George.
He shook his head. “You keep it,” he said, “it will be safer with you.”
She looked at him with her jeering smile. “Run away, George. I want to talk to Mr. Arden for a few minutes.”
When he had left us she lit a cigarette and stood up. There was no doubt she was very beautiful. “You must think my behaviour is very odd,” she said.
“The whole thing is so utterly preposterous that I would rather not discuss it,” I said tartly.
“George is afraid, isn’t he?” she said. “No one but you and I know that. He’s horribly scared. I’ve been watching him for several weeks now. The last time he raced he was nearly killed because he lost his nerve. I don’t think he’ll win this race, do you?”
I faced her. “Are you telling me that you think he will be killed.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t say that. I said I didn’t think he would win.”
“Does he mean anything to you?”
Her eyes flashed. “Why do you ask that? Has he been talking?”