Henry smiled a somewhat puzzled smile. “Have you asked my advice?” he said; but Jane did not smile. Instead, she leaned forward a little.
“Are you still at Scotland Yard, Henry?”
He nodded.
“Criminal Investigation Department?”
He nodded again.
“Then listen. Renata is in what her young man calls ‘a position of deadly peril.’ In more ordinary language, she’s in a nasty hole. Do you know anything about Cornelius Molloy? That’s the Anarchist Uncle, Renata’s father, you know.”
“There aren’t any anarchists nowadays,” said Henry meditatively.
“I was brought up on anarchists, and I don’t see that it matters what you call them,” said Jane. “‘A’ for Anarchist, ‘B’ for Bolshevik, and so on. The point is, do you know anything about Molloy?”
“I’ve heard of him,” Henry admitted.
“Nothing good?”