Penelope dropped back into her chair with a laugh. “I feared for a moment you were trying to flirt with me. That would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it? No, Mr. Labar, I assure you that I have no interest in any man or men that way.”
“I can conceive that men might be interested in you,” he smiled. “Now one more personal question. Like most ladies you have little personal extravagances that you like to indulge, eh?”
She flushed and pouted a little. “I don’t know that I’m so enormously extravagant. I’m fond of pretty things, and I have them within my means.”
“Always?” He leaned forward, and spoke the word very quietly. “You don’t—ah—run into debt?”
She swept angrily to her feet. “You are insulting,” she declared. “I can’t misunderstand you. You suggest that I am mixed up in this robbery.”
“Sit down!” he ordered, sternly. There was no mistaking the menace in his voice now. The girl ignored the command and remained with set face, her gaze meeting his in angry defiance. For a matter of seconds they remained thus, their wills clashing for supremacy. With deliberation he rose, and towering over her, pointed to her chair. “Sit down,” he repeated sternly, and as though under some dominating spell, she slowly obeyed.
He remained on his feet. “I have made no accusation against you, Miss Noelson, and you can answer me or not as you please. It will simplify my work if you answer, but bear in mind that I have other means of getting information.”
He noted that the wave of angry colour, which had suffused her face, had died down, leaving her with a touch of pallor. But she was holding herself steadily in hand, and had all her self-possession.
“In that event,” she returned, icily, “you had better apply to those other sources of information.”
Labar was studying her with a cold scrutiny, weighing her words and her demeanour with infinite calculation. He was alight with suspicion, but somehow he felt reluctant to press this dainty little creature with the cold official catechism that was in his mind. This was the man whom of all others, in spite of certain mild flirtations, Scotland Yard would have held immune from feminine influence. He pulled himself together. The work had to be done.
“Let’s be sensible,” he urged. “Now tell me, have you ever heard of a man called Larry Hughes?”
That was a shot in the dark. He had little doubt what the answer would be.
Penelope Noelson’s lips came together in a thin, obstinate line. “No,” she snapped.
The detective gave no sign that he had heard her. He moved aimlessly to the small table he had been using and bent over a paper. She stood up with a little petulant shrug of her shoulders, and was halfway to the door before he spoke again.
“Oh, by the way, there is another small matter. Why did you give me a hundred pound note this morning?”
Her eyes widened, and as she wheeled to face him her hands groped for the support of a chair.
“I gave you a hundred pound note? Why, I never saw you before in my life.”
He leaned grimly towards her. “You’re very nearly a convincing little liar. I recognised you the instant you came in the room. I’m calling your bluff, my girl. Now then. Suppose you come clean.”
For a second she stared at him uncomprehendingly. Then she slumped to the floor in a dead faint.
IV
Labar was a little uncertain of the value of his hand. Therefore, he hesitated to disclose his cards fully to Solly Gertstein, the more so as that gentleman at almost the first word declared his implicit faith in Miss Noelson. It was at that moment that the detective came almost near to liking the pompous little man.
All that the millionaire knew was that Labar had become suspicious while questioning the girl, and that she had fainted when the interrogation was closely pressed. Gertstein did not conceal his opinion that only a fool could suspect her. It was unthinkable that she could have anything to do with the robbery. She was as straight as a die.
Now, although the divisional inspector liked this attitude on the part of Gertstein, it failed utterly to convince him. In fact, his own view of the situation might have been deduced from the fact that when he had summoned a maid to help Penelope to her room, he had also given private instructions to one of his staff to keep as close an eye upon her as circumstances would permit. There was no telling what she might do if she was really frightened.
Of one thing Labar was sure. Momentary though his glimpse of the girl in the car had been, he had no doubt that it was Penelope Noelson. He did not make that kind of mistake. Of course, coincidences do happen. But those trained in the school of Scotland Yard are sceptical about coincidence. It was asking too much to suppose that the singular episode of the morning was entirely unassociated with the raid. It was but a question of how deeply the girl was involved. Was she an accomplice or merely a tool? She was not a professional thief. That much was certain. Why had she tried to bribe him? If Larry Hughes was at the bottom of the business—and he felt as certain of that as that the sun would rise and set—in what way were the girl and he associated?
With these questions stirring in his mind, he decided that it would be unwise to make any hasty move. There was, in fact, nothing very definite to act upon. He had debated with himself whether he ought to detain Penelope. He had small fear that she would get away from the surveillance he had placed upon her, but she might gum up the trail a bit. To hold her in
