“I suppose it’s for the Queen of Sheba.”
Gerard frowned surprise. “Who’s that?”
“The girl I’ve seen you with several times. They call her that, I suppose, because she’s wealthy, dusky, and indiscreet.”
“I used to know her in London long ago,” said Gerard, stiffly.
Suddenly the man remembered, flushed, and apologised.
“I’m awfully sorry. A thousand pardons. But one gets into a bad way of talking of public characters—and unfortunately every one talks of the lady by that name.”
Gerard sipped his vermouth coolly.
“What do you know about her?”
“Oh, nothing much. Really—I——”
“It would rather interest me to learn,” insisted Gerard.