Chapter Eleven
IM r. Dubois was annoyed. He tore Adele Fortescue’s letter angrily across and threw it into the wastepaper basket.
Then, with a sudden caution, he fished out the various pieces, struck a match and watched them burn to ashes. Hemuttered under his breath:
“Why have women got to be such damned fools? Surely common prudence¹ . . .” But then, Mr. Dubois reflectedgloomily, women never had any prudence. Though he had profited by this lack many a time, it annoyed him now. Hehimself had taken every precaution. If Mrs. Fortescue rang up they had instructions to say that he was out. AlreadyAdele Fortescue had rung him up three times, and now she had written. On the whole, writing was far worse. Hereflected for a moment or two, then he went to the telephone.
“Can I speak to Mrs. Fortescue, please? Yes, Mr. Dubois.” A minute or two later he heard her voice.
“Vivian, at last!”
“Yes, yes, Adele, but be careful. Where are you speaking from?”
“From the library.”
“Sure nobody’s listening in, in the hall?”
“Why should they?”
“Well, you never know. Are the police still about the house?”
“No, they’ve gone for the moment, anyhow. Oh, Vivian dear, it’s been awful.”
“Yes, yes, it must have I’m sure. But look here, Adele, we’ve got to be careful.”
“Oh, of course, darling.”
“Don’t call me darling through the phone. It isn’t safe.”
“Aren’t you being a little bit panicky, Vivian? After all, everybody says darling nowadays.”
“Yes, yes, that’s true enough. But listen. Don’t telephone to me and don’t write.”
“But Vivian—”
“It’s just for the present, you understand. We must be careful.”
“Oh. All right.” Her voice sounded offended.
“Adele, listen. My letters to you. You did burn them, didn’t you?”
There was a momentary² hesitation³ before Adele Fortescue said:
“Of course. I told you I was going to do so.”
“That’s all right then. Well I’ll ring off now. Don’t phone and don’t write. You’ll hear from me in good time.”
He put the receiver back in its hook. He stroked his cheek thoughtfully. He didn’t like that moment’s hesitation.

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