“Yes, yes,” Monty said impatiently, “but what do you know about her?”
“Nothing except that she’s a corker.”
“You met her in Paris, didn’t you?” Monty was persistent.
“Yes,” his friend admitted.
“What was she doing there?”
Denby frowned. “What on earth are you driving at?”
“She was behind that door listening to us or trying to.”
“So you thought that, too?” Denby cried quickly.
“Then you do suspect her of being the one they’ve got to work on the inside?” Monty retorted triumphantly.
“It can’t be possible,” Denby exclaimed, fighting to retain his faith in her. “You’re dead wrong, old man. I won’t believe it for a moment.”