Half way up St. James's Street my companion suddenly exclaimed:
"I must be going! Would you please hail me a taxi, Mr. Royle?"
"I will—when you have answered my question," I said, with great politeness.
"I have already replied to it," was her response. "You love Phrida Shand, but if you have any self-respect, any regard for your future, break off Whatever infatuation she has exercised over you. If you are Digby's friend, you will be a man, and act as such!"
"I really don't follow you," I said, bewildered.
"Perhaps not. But surely my words are plain enough!"
"Is she the enemy of Digby, of whom you have spoken?"
"That question I am not permitted to answer."
I was silent a few seconds. Then I asked earnestly:
"Tell me openly and frankly, Mrs. Petre. Is she the person you suspect of having committed the crime?"