Part 32 (1/2)

You know what you can be charged with, don't you?

I could trust you to fake something up, even if I didn't.

No need to be cheeky. I've come to ask you a few questions, and I want civil answers.

Hurry up and ask them, then, and leave me alone. I've got to go out.

Just for a moment I thought that Mrs. Walker was going to break in, but when she tried to talk Stute silenced her instantly. He was completely at homes and master of the situation. He took a chair placed in front of the door and turned to Smythe.

I looked round the room. It was an unpleasant example of the disadvantages of selling cheap lacquer paints. The wood-work had been done in a lavish scarlet, the walls distempered by an amateur with raspberry pink. The furniture was inexpensive, but there was an abundance of cus.h.i.+ons in vivid colours. Behind the girl was the bed from which she had risen, presumably, to open the door.

She herself was florid and pink as her background, with bright yellow hair and too many rings. She yawned as Stute faced her.

''What's your name?

Smythe.

Christian name?

Stella

Why do you call yourself Estelle then?

Professional name.

Indeed. What profession?

Stage. Chorus lady.

How long had you known Rogers?

Oh, I dunno without a lot of thinking. And I'm too sleepy to think now. A few years, anyway.

Why did you want to see him?

Miss Smythe yawned again. Why do you think? she asked. Just for the pleasure of a chat?

Mrs. Walker could control herself no longer.

She was ...

But Stute was too quick for her.

That's quite enough from you, he thundered.

Oh very well. If a lady can't . . .

Stute wheeled from her to Smythe and his voice drowned her grumbling.

You wanted money, I suppose?