“Well, let’s wish her luck. It would be amusing if she put one over on Battle and Co.”
“What is Superintendent Battle like?” asked Rhoda curiously.
Major Despard said gravely:
“He’s an extraordinarily astute man. A man of remarkable ability.”
“Oh!” said Rhoda. “Anne said he looked rather stupid.”
“That, I should imagine, is part of Battle’s stock-in-trade. But we mustn’t make any mistakes. Battle’s no fool.”
He rose.
“Well, I must be off. There’s just one other thing I’d like to say.”
Anne had risen also.
“Yes?” she said, as she held out her hand.
Despard paused a minute, picking his words carefully. He took her hand and retained it in his. He looked straight into the wide, beautiful grey eyes.
“Don’t be offended with me,” he said. “I just want to say this: It’s humanly possible that there may be some feature of your acquaintanceship with Shaitana that you don’t want to come out. If so—don’t be angry, please” (he felt the instinctive pull of her hand)—“you are perfectly within your rights in refusing to answer any questions Battle may ask unless your solicitor is present.”
Anne tore her hand away. Her eyes opened, their grey darkening with anger.
“There’s nothing—nothing … I hardly knew the beastly man.”
“Sorry,” said Major Despard. “Thought I ought to mention it.”
“It’s quite true,” said Rhoda. “Anne barely knew him. She didn’t like him much, but he gave frightfully good parties.”
“That,” said Major Despard grimly, “seems to have been the only justification for the late Mr. Shaitana’s existence.”
Anne said in a cold voice:
“Superintendent Battle can ask me anything he likes. I’ve nothing to hide—nothing.”
Despard said very gently, “Please forgive me.”
She looked at him. Her anger dwindled. She smiled—it was a very sweet smile.
“It’s all right,” she said. “You meant it kindly, I know.”
She held out her hand again. He took it and said:
“We’re in the same boat, you know. We ought to be pals….”
It was Anne who went with him to the gate. When she came back Rhoda was staring out of the window and whistling. She turned as her friend entered the room.
“He’s frightfully attractive, Anne.”
“He’s nice, isn’t he?”
“A great deal more than nice … I’ve got an absolute passion for him. Why wasn’t I at that damned dinner instead of you? I’d have enjoyed the excitement—the net closing round me—the shadow of the scaffold—”
“No, you wouldn’t. You’re talking nonsense, Rhoda.”
Anne’s voice was sharp. Then it softened as she said: