“Oh, Lord! Have you even found out that? I don’t know whether I’m much flattered by this surveillance 232 you and your friends maintain over me. I suppose you even know what I had for dinner. Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Come, I’ll call that bluff, dear lady! What did I have?”
When she told him, carelessly, and without humour, mentioning accurately every detail of his dinner, he lost his gaiety of countenance a little.
“Oh, I say, you know,” he protested, “that’s going it a trifle too strong. Now, why the devil should your people keep tabs on me to that extent?”
She looked up directly into his eyes:
“Mr. Neeland, I want to tell you why. I asked you here so that I may tell you. The people associated with me are absolutely pledged that neither the French nor the British Government shall have access to the contents of your box. That is why nothing that you do escapes our scrutiny. We are determined to have the papers in that box, and we shall have them.”
“You have come to that determination too late,” he began; but she stopped him with a slight gesture of protest:
“Please don’t interrupt me, Mr. Neeland.”
“I won’t; go on, dear lady!”