"That's right," said Mrs. Mason, "throw your guest out. Where were-you brought up?" She pulled on her gloves. "You are a mutt not to come and spend the night with me as I suggested. Sure you won't change your mind? You can ring the Priory up, can't you?"
"Not on the telephone. No, really I can't, Peggy. I've got to go and see our solicitor too: that's why I'm pushing you off."
"Solicitor be blowed," said Mrs. Mason inelegantly.
"Who ever goes to see solicitors at this hour? All right, my girl, I'm going. I shall tell Bill when he gets back from France that you had an assignation with some man you kept very dark." Her sharp eyes detected a rising blush in Margaret's cheeks. "Hul-lo!" she said, surprised. "Don't say I've hit the nail on the head? Is there someone?"
"No, of course not, you idiot. I'm going to see my solicitor and his wife at their house in Chelsea. Can I drop you?"
"As I live in the wilds of Hampstead, which fact you are well aware of, I regard that offer as a clear proof that you are dithering. And the only explanation for that…'
"Will you shut up?" said Margaret, and dragged her forth.
A quarter of an hour later her car drew up outside the Milbanks' house on the Embankment. She was ushered at once into the drawing-room on the first floor, and found both Mr. and Mrs. Milbank there. They both gave her a warm welcome, and for a little while they were all engaged in the usual conversation of old friends. But when Margaret had set down her coffeecup, Mr. Milbank said: "Well, what is it you want to see me about, Margaret? Have you been run in for furious driving?"
"C'ertainly not!" said Margaret indignantly. "I may not be one of the world's best drivers, but at least I've never been had up. It really isn't anything frightfully important, but I thought that since I happened to be in town I might as well drop in and ask you about it."
Mrs. Milbank began to fold up the work she had started to embroider. "Is it private, Margaret? Would you likee me to vanish, with a plausible excuse?"
"No, not a bit! Please don't go! I wanted to ask you, Mr. Milbank, whether you can remember the name of the man who wanted to know if the Priory was for sale."
The solicitor wrinkled his brow. "I'm not sure that I can. The file is at the office, of course, and I can let you know to-morrow. Rather an ordinary name, as far as I remember. I think it was Robinson." He gazed up at the ceiling. "Yes, I'm nearly certain it was. George Robinson. But I won't swear to it."
"I see. You didn't actually meet him, did you?"
"No, he wrote, and I distinctly remember that I sent your answer to a poste-restante address, as he explained that he was on a motor tour. Why? Have you reconsidered your decision?"
"No, but we - we rather wanted to know who it was. We don't mean to sell the Priory yet."
"I'm rather relieved to hear you say that," smiled the lawyer, "for I had another man in making inquiries, and turned him down."
Margaret looked quickly towards him. "Another man? Wanting to buy the place?"
"I imagine he must have had some such idea, though he didn't actually say so. I told him that you had no intention of selling."
"Who was he?" Margaret asked. "Anyone we know?"
"I shouldn't think so. He never told me his name, because, as I say, things never got as far as that. He was a youngish man —- between thirty and thirty-five, I should say. Nice looking, very dark, fairly…'
"Dark?" Margaret faltered.
"Yes, very dark. Black hair and eyebrows, rather a tanned complexion, fairly tall. My dear, what is all this about? Why are you so anxious to know what he looked like?"
"Well! - well, we - we met someone at a party who - who seemed rather interested in the Priory, and we suspected he wanted to buy it," Margaret explained. "Did he seem keen to when you saw him?"
"Not to the extent of badgering me to forward an offer. He didn't even make one."
"I wish you'd tell me just what he did say," Margaret begged.
"I'll try, since you make such a point of it," Mr. Milbank said, still rather surprised. "He said he had been asked to make some inquiries about a house which he understood had been standing empty for several years. I assumed he was acting for someone else, but of course he may have merely put it that way. Lots of people do, if they don't want you to think they're set on buying a thing. He said he hoped he was not too late in coming to see me, as he had heard that someone else had been after the house."
Margaret's eyes were fixed intently on the solicitor's face. "Oh! He'd heard that, had he? Did he say how?"
"No, and I'm afraid I didn't ask him. I told him that you had no thought of selling. Let me see: what did he say tie it? Yes, I think he said:" Then there'snot ruth in what I heard — that the present owners are considering an offer they have received?" I assured him that you were entertaining no such idea, that you had, in fact, definitely refused to sell. After that I think he chatted for a few minutes about the place. Something he said about having seen the house from his car made me suspect that he might be this man, Robinson, or whatever his name is, trying a new way of getting the Priory. I asked him whether I was not right in supposing he had written to me before concerning this matter. Whether it was he, or someone behind him who wrote I really don't know, but I distinctly remember that he did not answer for a moment. Which made me all the more certain, as you can imagine. However, I wasn't particularly interested, so I didn't go into it. He said it was quite possible that his friend had written to me, but no doubt I'd had a great many such letters, or something of the sort. I'm a busy man, as you know, and I thought I'd wasted enough time on the matter. So when he said that in the event of your wishing to sell after all, he hoped I'd let him know before you accepted any other offer, I fear I rather cut him short, and told him that I did not think he need worry himself, as for one thing you had no wish to sell the Priory, and for another the only other offer I had received on your behalf was entirely tentative. He still didn't seem satisfied, and even went so far as to request me not to advise my other client of any change in your decision before letting him know. So I told him that in any case it would be quite out of my power to do so since I had only an old poste-restante address to write to. That did seem to settle him, and he went off- quite forgetting, by the way, to leave me his address!"
"I see," Margaret said slowly. "Yes - I think that sounds like the man we thought was after the place. Thanks awfully for telling me."
"I may be very inquisitive," Mr. Milbank said, "but I do wish you'd tell me why you're so anxious to hear all this."
She smiled. "Sheer curiosity, Mr. Milbank. I - I wondered whether he'd have the cheek to come and interview you about it. Apparently he had." She glanced at the clock, and started up. "Oh, Lord, I shall be hideously late if I don't start."
She took her leave of them both and went down to her car. Mr. Milbank accompanied her to the front door, wondering what lay behind her visit, and waved farewell to her from the top of his steps. She let in the clutch, and the car slid forward.
Her suspicion had been a true one, but this afforded her very little satisfaction. It seemed to be just one more link in the chain of evidence against Strange.
"And I ought to tell Peter," she said to herself, slipping past a tram. "It's absolutely wrong of me not to. Michael Strange is nothing to me, nor ever likely to be, and for all I know he may be planning something perfectly dreadful. And it's no good getting sloppy and sentimental, and thinking how a Good Woman's Love might reclaim him, because that's the sort of rot that makes me sick. Besides, I'm not in love with him."
"Aren't you?" Conscience inquired. "Then are you going to tell Peter all you know?"
"I promised I'd say nothing," Margaret argued. "I may have been wrong to do so, but I did, and that's that."