“To be quite frank, it would be rather more than that. I should risk getting caught.”
“Caught?” echoed Darcy interestedly. “It sounds thrilling. Are you a fugitive from justice?”
“No. I’m a fugitive from injustice. See here, Miss Romancia, I’m something of a faker myself. Being up against it good, I’m going to ’fess up.
“‘Faker’? ‘Up against it’? Why—why, where’s your English accent gone?”
“Cut out. Pretty soon I’m going to do the same with these whiskers. They tickle.”
So many surprises had been forced upon Darcy that, inured to them, she was able to sustain this one unperturbed. “It’s a wonderful disguise,” she approved. “And you play the part beautifully. But, if the question isn’t indiscreet, why?”
“As I indicated, I’m flying for my life.”
“Then I hope it’s something thrilling like murder or arson, and not something petty like bigamy or fancy finance.”
“Nothing as interesting as crime. I’m wanted as a witness in a will case. They’re trying to catch me and put me on the stand and make me testify that my great-uncle was a crafty and vicious old lunatic.”
“When he wasn’t? How horrid!”