"Jawing at her, as far as I could make out," he answered, with a grin. "Of course, I couldn't hear anything—I was too far away; but I could see them waggling their hands and shrugging their shoulders in the best Dago fashion. Looked to me as if they were trying to persuade her to do something she didn't want to—stick a knife into you, I expect."
"I shouldn't wonder," I said, "but I'll find out this afternoon. She's going to meet me at four o'clock."
Billy frowned. "Isn't that rather running your head into it unnecessarily?" he asked. "She's staying with them in the house, and, after all, you know precious little about her."
"That's just the reason why I want to find out some more," I retorted. Then, laying my hand on his shoulder, I added more seriously: "I've got to see her Billy; I can't get on without her any longer."
He grunted. "Well, it's no good saying anything if you've made up your mind: I know that. All the same, I think you're an ass, my son. What are your plans?"
"Well," said I, "I thought I'd hang about here and look at the car and do a bit of shopping while you went across and interviewed the police. Then we might have some lunch, and after that I'll go off and meet Mercia."
"Where's the trysting tree?" inquired Billy.
I gave him the note.
He read it through, grunted again, and then handed it back to me. "You know your own business best," he said, "but, if you take my tip, you'll shove a gun of some sort in your pocket. Where is this blessed windmill?"
"I don't know," I said, "but I'll find out while you're making love to the Inspector."