'Her son?'
'A rather nice-looking man. He plays heavy parts on tour. He's married and has two of the sweetest children. Their grandmother is devoted to them. Hasn't she ever mentioned them to you?'
She poured herself out another cup of cocoa. Conversation again languished.
'I suppose you're very fond of her?' she said at length.
'I'm devoted to her.' He paused. 'Dear little thing!' he added.
She rose and moved to the door. There was a nasty gleam in her eyes.
'You aren't going?' he said.
'I shall be back in a moment. I'm just going to bring your poor little office-boy up here. He must be missing you.'
He sprang up, but she had gone. Leaning over the banisters, he heard a door open below, then a short conversation, and finally footsteps climbing the stairs.
It was pitch dark on the landing. He stepped aside, and they passed without seeing him. Master Bean was discoursing easily on cocoa, the processes whereby it was manufactured, and the remarkable distances which natives of Mexico had covered with it as their only food. The door opened, flooding the landing with light, and Mr Ferguson, stepping from ambush, began to descend the stairs.