“Ah!” he exclaimed, glancing at the contents of the various dishes standing about. “Aubergines à la Turque, what? An excellent dish. But I’d mince the mutton a bit finer, if I were you. And not too much cheese: it detracts from the sauce espagnole which I see you’re preparing.” He looked up with a pleasant smile. “What’s your name, by the by?”
His manner astonished the woman greatly, but it also had the effect of alleviating her fears.
“Menzel,” she answered in a dull voice. “Grete Menzel.”
“And how long have you been with the Drukkers?”
“Going on twenty-five years.”
“A long time,” Vance commented musingly. “Tell me: why were you frightened when we called here this morning?”
The woman became sullen, and her large hands closed tightly.
“I wasn’t frightened. But Mr. Drukker was busy——”
“You thought perhaps we had come to arrest him,” Vance broke in.
Her eyes dilated, but she made no answer.