“Of course, you know I am a stranger,” he explained. “Will you kindly take this to Mrs Saxton, and tell her that I will take up as little of her time as possible.”
After the delay of a few moments, he was shown into a pretty drawing-room, tastefully furnished. The lady was sitting at a tea-table, and alone.
“Please sit down,” she said; her tones were quite affable. She did not in the least appear to resent this sudden intrusion into her domestic life. “Lily, bring another cup. You will let me offer you some tea?”
She was certainly a most agreeable person—on the right side of thirty, he judged. Smeaton was somewhat susceptible to female influence, although, to do him justice, he never allowed this weakness to interfere with business.
He explained that tea was a meal of which he never partook. Mrs Saxton, it appeared, was a most hospitable person, and promptly suggested a whisky-and-soda. He must take something, she protested, or she would feel embarrassed.
The detective accepted, and felt that things had begun very smoothly. The velvet glove was very obvious, even if, later, he should catch a glimpse of the iron hand encased within.
“I must apologise for intruding upon you, Mrs Saxton, in this fashion. But I am in want of a little information, and I believe you can furnish me with it, if you are disposed to.”
Mrs Saxton smiled at him very sweetly, and regarded him with eyes of mild surprise. Very fine eyes they were, he thought. It was a pity that she had taken the trouble to enhance their brilliancy by the aid of art. She was quite good-looking enough to rely upon her attractions, without surreptitious assistance.
“How very interesting,” she said in a prettily modulated, but rather affected voice. “I am all curiosity.”
She was purring perhaps a little bit too much for absolute sincerity, but it was pleasant to be met with such apparent cordiality.