TWENTYCarr had walked into Lenton at very much the same pace as he had used the night before. He found Jonathan Moore in his shop discoursing at leisure with old Lady Fitchett. The contrast of her square bulk and gruff manners with Jonathan’s distinguished height and polished courtesy would have entertained him at any other time. As it was, he chose the other side of a Chippendale bookcase and made for the door at the back of the shop.
It took more than a bookcase to deflect Lady Fitchett’s interest. Her attention wandered from the Hispano-Mauresque plates which were under discussion. She demanded with energy,
‘Who was that?’
Jonathan Moore looked vague.
‘I really couldn’t say.’
‘Well, he’s just walked through your private door as if it belonged to him.’
‘One of the men perhaps——’
‘
