“He looks so. But who is he?”
“Somebody—well, somebody I knew at Eastbourne.”
“And you’ve met him here? How long ago?”
“Oh! nearly a month.”
“And so it is he whom you’ve met several times of late—eh?” I said. “Let’s see—according to the report furnished to me, you were out for half an hour on the sea-front on Tuesday night; five minutes on Wednesday night; not at all on Thursday night, and one whole hour on Friday night—eh? And with a young man whose name is unknown.”
“Oh, I’ll tell you his name. He’s Dick Drury.”
“And who, pray, is this Mr Richard Drury?”
“A friend of mine, I tell you. The man with him is his friend—Lance Ingram, a doctor.”
“And what is this Mr Drury’s profession?”
“He does nothing, I suppose,” she laughed. “I can’t well imagine Dick doing much.”