"It's really very good of you, Mr. Boyne," said the girl, "I know now keenly she has always looked after your interests."
"And I appreciate that, Miss Marigold. Now, my idea is to allow her two pounds a week till I get settled again."
"Very generous of you, I'm sure," replied Marigold. "With her infirmity, it's most difficult. Her deafness has increased the last six months, and she could never get another situation now. I'm sure of that."
"Then you'll look after her if she has two pounds a week regularly.—eh?"
"Yes. She can come and live with me at Wimbledon," the girl said. "I'm sure auntie will be very grateful," she added. "Only a couple of days ago she told me she was wondering what she would do now that the house is burnt, and she couldn't live with a neighbour for ever."
Boyne was silent for a few seconds. The waiter had placed the little plates of sardines, olives, and sliced beet upon the table, the usual hors d'oeuvres of the foreign restaurant.
The girl's host looked her in the face suddenly, and asked:
"Tell me, Miss Marigold, what friends have you?"
"Relatives, you mean? Well, practically none who count, except auntie and my sister," she replied, little dreaming that the man had put that question with an ulterior motive—and a very sinister one, too.
"And also Mr. Durrant," he laughed.