He went into the bedroom and began a systematic search. Patiently he went through every drawer, examined the sides of the arm-chair, looked behind the few pictures of doubtful taste hanging on the walls, took the grubby bed to pieces, but he found nothing to interest him. He went into the small kitchen and hunted about there. Then he stood still and scratched his head. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he had hoped that he would have found something to give him a lead. He went to the kitchen door. Then his eyes narrowed. Annabel was sitting quite still, but he knew that she had moved from the chair whilst he was in the kitchen. Her elaborate calmness, her frank smile when he came into the room, told him.
“Have you found anything?” she said, with a great show of interest.
He began wandering round the room. “Not yet,” he said, “but I’m getting hot.”
She got out of the chair. “Where’s the Johnny?”
He stood quite still, then he jerked his head.
“Just through the bedroom,” he said.
“I won’t be a minute.”
He didn’t say anything, but watched her go into the bedroom, then he heard her shoot the bolt on the bathroom door.
He saw that she had left her bag on the table, and he went over quickly and scooped it up. He pressed on the paste diamond clasp and opened it. Quickly he emptied the contents on the table. There was the usual collection of junk that most women carry. A powder compactum, cigarette-case and lighter, a lipstick in a gold case, a small phial of scent, some letters, and a roll of greenbacks. Nothing to interest him.
Making a little grimace of annoyance, he pushed the stuff back into the bag.