I smiled within myself at his reply.
“She’s evidently in rather a good set,” Cardew went on, “for I’ve often seen in the Morning Post accounts of her parties, which seem to include quite a number of distinguished people.”
“Well,” I said, “as you know, Cardew, I am busy making my own inquiries. It is a slow, tedious process, but I am hopeful of success. I intend to discover by what means poor Guy was killed; therefore his friends interest me—especially his women friends. For that reason I am trying to discover all I can concerning Mrs Olliffe.”
He was silent for a moment; then, bending across the table to me, said—
“It has never occurred to me before, Kemball, but somehow, now that I reflect, I can see that Guy appeared to be in fear of the lady we have just been discussing.”
“In fear of her?”
“Yes. One circumstance made it quite plain. A little over a month ago, I was staying with him at the Grand at Eastbourne, and wanted him to come with me to Brighton for the week-end, but he told me he had an appointment on the Sunday which he could not break. I urged him to go, but he would not, and on Sunday night he went out about nine o’clock, and did not return until two in the morning. I chaffed him next morning. But he was pale and haggard, and his reply was significant. ‘No, old chap,’ he said. ‘Sometimes a fellow gets into a bit of a hole. I’m in one—a woman, as you can guess. And I had to keep that appointment. I couldn’t refuse her, for we had some serious business to transact. Ah,’ he sighed, ‘if I could only think that I’d never see her again, by Gad! I’d be a different man!’”
“And you guessed that he met the widow?” I said.
“I know that he did, for later that same morning he let a remark drop casually that he had to see Mrs Olliffe off in Hastings.”
“Then she had some hold upon him?”