Chapter VI
The Gentle Art
of Blackmail
IT was exactly five minutes to four when Virginia Revel, rendered punctual by a healthy curiosity, returned to the house in Pont Street. She opened the door with her latchkey, and stepped into the hall to be immediately confronted by the impassive Chilvers.
“I beg pardon, ma’am, but a—a person has called to see you——”
For the moment, Virginia did not pay attention to the subtle phraseology whereby Chilvers cloaked his meaning.
“Mr. Lomax? Where is he? In the drawing-room?”
“Oh, no, ma’am, not Mr. Lomax.” Chilvers’s tone was faintly reproachful. “A person—I was reluctant to let him in, but he said his business was most important—connected with the late Captain, I understood him to say. Thinking therefore that you might wish to see him, I put him—er—in the study.”
Virginia stood thinking for a minute. She had been a widow now for some years, and the fact that she rarely spoke of her husband was taken by some to indicate that below her careless demeanour was a still-aching wound. By others it was taken to mean the exact opposite, that Virginia had never really cared for Tim Revel, and that she found it insincere to profess a grief she did not feel.
“I should have mentioned, ma’am,” continued Chilvers, “that the man appears to be some kind of foreigner.”
Virginia’s interest heightened a little. Her husband had been in the Diplomatic Service, and they had been together in Herzoslovakia just before the sensational murder of the King and Queen. This man might probably be a Herzoslovakian, some old servant who had fallen on evil days.
“You did quite right, Chilvers,” she said with a quick,
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