It was half-past seven when they all sat down at the table.
“Seven o’clock is the regular time,” said Queenie Brett. “But I didn’t know there’d be four extra, so I had to send Percy to the village to get some things, and the car broke down.” She paused. “Anyhow, that Percy’s story,” she said.
She had put on a long dress of black lace with a big, white artificial flower on one shoulder; her coppery hair was done high on her head; black mascara made her long blue eyes strangely vivid. Hussy, thought one of the four men at the table. But she can cook.
And I can eat, he thought. I’m not even nervous. My hand’s perfectly steady now. I’ve got a good appetite. It’s damn queer, but I feel—better now.
Well, he thought, that’s natural. I mean I’ve proved that I can think fast and act. I admit th
