“Begging your pardon, sir, but I don’t think they’re reporters. The man’s dressed like a vicar, anyway.”
“Oh, how original. What’s the girl dressed as? Joan of Arc?”
“She’s normal enough, sir. Says she’s his secretary.”
“You’d better show them to my office, then, hadn’t you? And send some orderlies down here to cart this she-devil back to the morgue. I’ll be up directly.” He hung up the receiver and turned back to his interviewee with a contemptuous sneer. “I do apologise; most discourteous of me to break off in the middle of conversation. It won’t be for long, I assure you. I suggest you take advantage of the time to consider your options... while I’m still inclined to leave them open to you.”
Perhaps he drew some small catharsis from this parting threat, but at any rate he felt a lit
