I leaned forward.
"Is it Mrs. Drainger, Fawcett?"
He turned to me with mingled relief and inquiry.
"Yes. How did you know?"
I promised myself something later and remained vague.
"I had heard of her," I said.
His eyes questioned mine.
"Everyone must have heard of her but me," came the same irritating voice. "Aren't you going to tell us?"
"Merely a patient of mine," said Fawcett impolitely. "She has just died—at an advanced age."
It was cruel, but justified.