Violet, under the influence of the liqueurs, was a little off her guard.
“Oh, don’t be silly. Jack was a very expert bridge-player.”
Moreno nodded. “I think I understand. We won’t go into details. Under his instructions, you became a very expert bridge-player too. It used to be whispered that you were just a little bit too lucky.”
Violet Hargrave admitted that many rumours had been flying about, and that the flat in Mount Street had become a little suspect.
“And how did you get into this?” had been Moreno’s next question.
Violet had been very frank. “It was dear old Jaques who drew me into it. You know I have told you how grateful I was to him, how indebted. When he asked me, could I refuse, after all the benefits he had showered upon me?”
“Impossible,” said Moreno in his quiet, easy tones. He added, after a pause, “I wonder if your heart is in it?”
She flashed at him a swift glance of interrogation. “I wonder if yours is?”
Moreno smiled. They were then each suspecting the other, on account of their mixed parentage.
“Absolutely,” he answered in a tone of deep conviction. “I am nine-tenths Spaniard, one-tenth Englishman. You are one-tenth Spaniard and nine-tenths Englishwoman. I very much doubt if your heart is in it.”