He wondered what Naomi Smith would be like. There was no reason, except the sound of her voice, why he should be looking forward to seeing her, but he was. He wrote three letters, to the secretaries of committees on which he served, including a London Branch of the Prisoners.” Aid Society, and was sealing the last when the front door bell rang.

It was thirty-one minutes since Naomi Smith had telephoned.

He got up from the desk and waited for Jolly—it would be unkind to open the door himself, and rob Jolly of a chance of appraising the caller. From where he stood, the door leading to the domestic quarters was on the right, the door leading to a wide hall and the front door was on the left.

“Good afternoon,” said Jolly.

“Good afternoon.” The pleasing voice was unmistakable. “Mr. Rollison is expecting me—I am Mrs. Smith.”

“Yes, Madam,” said Jolly, “please come this way.” There was the closing of the door, footsteps muffled by the carpet, and then Jolly appeared and stood aside, announcing:

“Mrs. Smith, sir.”

Rollison moved towards the woman as she came in—and was almost shocked, for she was one of the plainest-looking women he had ever seen; her only redeeming feature, at first sight, were her fine, chestnut-brown eyes.

CHAPTER 2

Fallen Angels

 

NAOMI SMITH smiled at Rollison, and something in her expression told him that she knew what had flashed into his mind, and was amused. She was dressed in a dark brown suit of good cut, with a most attractive figure. As she sat down he noticed her well-shaped legs, the skirt, which was short but not too short, the hand-made shoes, which were lighter than her suit but toned in with it.

As he took in these details, he moved towards a corner cabinet.