Chapter 40

“She isn’t—in a way,” said I. “She’s no faults but those I’ve told you. I—I rather think she’s for sale, because she got hot.” “Probably bad driving,” said Miss Sword. “She’s cool enough now.” This was undeniable. I began to wonder whether the car had improved. Ten minutes later we came to the lady’s hotel. There she gave me a cocktail and a cheque for a thousand pounds. When we parted she came to the pavement, to see me off. “And thank you so much, Mr. Wrotham. Nobody could have been kinder—or more indiscreet. I’m…