"She asked me to go and see if her picture was safe."
"I had already told her it was safe."
Janet did not answer.
The rose in Fred's buttonhole fell petal by petal.
Monkey Brand's voice had hardened when he spoke again.
"I am sure," he said, and for a moment he fixed his dull sinister eyes upon her, "that you will see the advisability, the necessity, of telling me why you burnt some papers when you clandestinely visited my flat."
"I burnt nothing."
He looked into his hat. Janet's bewildered eyes followed the direction of his, and looked into his hat too. There was nothing in it but a glove.
"There were ashes of burnt papers in the grate," he continued. "The lift man saw you leave the room, which had smoke in it. A valuable paper, your brother's I O U is missing. I merely state established facts, which it is useless, which it is prejudicial, to you to contradict."
"I burnt nothing," said Janet again, but there was a break in her voice. Her heart began to struggle like some shy woodland animal, which suddenly sees itself surrounded.