“Pardon me, Gastineau; I think we agreed that the subject should not be discussed between us.”
“Perhaps,” he replied insistently. “But my interest is now at least equal to yours, through the same source, the Countess Alexia. What did Quickjohn come to tell you?”
Evasion was difficult under the searchlight of those transfixing eyes, but the whole truth could not be told. “He came to say,” Herriard answered, “that he is following the matter up.”
“With what result?”
“No definite result at present.”
“He took the trouble to come and tell you that?” Gastineau was holding him to the point with a greater than professional tenacity.
“I had told them at Scotland Yard that they seemed inclined to let the case drop.”
Gastineau paused, but his was the silence of disbelief. He took a few sharp, impatient steps to his former position. Then spoke abruptly, his viciousness smouldering and ever ready to burst into flame. “Shall I tell you what I think of you, Geoffrey Herriard?”
Herriard shrugged. “I do not care.”
“What,” Gastineau went on, ignoring the reply, “I think of you by the light of your recent conduct towards me, the man who made you, the man who can, and will, unmake you?”