“You didn’t keep your promise.” He shook his head waggishly. “Oh, woman, woman!” “I don’t remember having made a promise,” said the girl quietly. “You asked me to come to dinner with you, and I told you that that was impossible.” “I promised to send my car for you. Don’t say it was too far away. Never mind, never mind.” And, to Michael’s wrath, he squeezed the girl’s arm in a manner which was intended to be paternal, but which filled the girl with indignant loathing. She wrenched her arm free, and, turning her back upon her tormentor, almost flew to Jack Knebworth with an incoherent demand for information on the reading of a line which was perfectly simple. Old Jack was no fool. He watched the play from under his eyelids, recognizing all the symptoms. “This is the last time we shall shoot at Griff Towers,” he told himself. For Jack Knebworth was something of a stickler on behaviour, and had views on women which were diametrically opposite to those held by Sir Gregory Penne. CHAPTER VII THE SWORDS AND BHAG THE little party moved away, leaving Michael alone with the baronet. For a period, Gregory Penne watched the girl, his eyes glittering; then he became aware of Michael’s presence and turned a cold, insolent stare upon the other. “What are you?” he asked, looking the detective up and down. “I’m an extra,” said Michael. “An extra, eh? Sort of chorus boy? Put paint and powder on your face and all that sort of thing? What a life for a man!” “There are worse,” said Michael, holding his antagonism in check. “Do you know that little girl—what’s her name, Leamington?” asked the baronet suddenly. “I know her extremely well,” said Michael untruthfully. “Oh, you do, eh?” said the master of Griff Towers with sudden amiability. “She’s a nice little thing. Quite a cut above the ordinary chorus girl. You might bring her along to dinner one night. She’d come with you, eh?” The contortions of the puffy eyelids suggested to Michael that the man had winked. There was something about this gross figure that interested the scientist in Michael Brixan. He was elemental; an animal invested with a brain; and yet he must be something more than that if he had held a high administrative position under Government. “Are you acting? If you’re not, you can come up and have a look at my swords,” said the man suddenly. Michael guessed that, for a reason of his own, probably because of his claim to be Adele’s friend, the man wished to cultivate the acquaintance. “No, I’m not acting,” replied Michael. And no invitation could have given him greater pleasure. Did their owner realize the fact, Michael Brixan had already made up his mind not to leave Griff Towers until he had inspected that peculiar collection. “Yes, she’s a nice little girl.” Penne returned to the subject immediately as they paced up the slope toward the house.