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I looked into his steady grey eyes. Nothing there surely. I went on:


‘I suppose you’d met her before?’

‘Last time I was here – she and her husband had just come here to live.’ He paused a minute and then added: ‘Rum thing, she had changed a lot between then and now.’

‘How – changed?’ I asked.

‘Looked ten years older.’

‘Were you down here when her husband died?’ I asked, trying to make the question sound as casual as possible.

‘No. from all I heard it would be good riddance. Uncharitable, perhaps, but the truth.’


I agreed.

‘Ashley Ferrars was by no means a pattern husband,’ I said cautiously.

‘Blackguard, I thought,’ said Blunt.


‘No,’ I said, ‘only a man with more money than was good for him.’

‘Oh! Money! All the troubles in the world can be put down to money – or the lack of it.’

‘Which has been your particular trouble?’ I asked.


‘Enough for what I want. I’m one of the lucky ones.’

‘Indeed.’

‘I’m not too flush just now, as a matter of fact. Came into a legacy a year ago, and like a fool let myself be persuaded into putting it into some wild-cat scheme.’

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