“We won’t. ‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely. Gay. I am glad you found me. I’m sorry. Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. “I hope you will not compel me to say again that I do not know the man’s name, nor, to the best of my belief, have I ever seen him before in my life. “No, he wouldn’t come here of all places—just now. It was a bogus affair altogether, kept by some blackguard or other of an Englishman. Sheppard. The risk I run is nothing to yours. ‘Well, water under the bridge is that, miss.
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