“It’s impossible — I can’t even hope to deceive you?” Her eyes were huge.

“It would be fascinating to find out what would happen if you tried,” he remarked. “With most men no doubt you find it easy. Are you busy?”

“Well, not just now.”

“What do you mean, not just now?”

“I was busy, because I wanted to talk to you,” she told him, “and simply didn’t know how to go about it. It’s as pleasant as it’s easy.”

“I’m busy,” he interrupted. “I’ve an urgent job to do.” Her face fell. “Oh,” she said, as if crestfallen. “But we could talk on the way,” he added.

“On the way where?”

“Where I am going. You could come in my car and talk to me while I drive, a process called killing two birds with one stone.”

She gave a funny little shudder, as if not liking what he had said about killing. If possible, her eyes grew even rounder and more huge.

“Are you serious?” she demanded.

“Very serious.”

“Very well,” the girl decided, “I’ll come. Will you remember where I’ve left my car?”

“Yes,” he assured her. “This is where I always have the people who follow me park; that’s how I was able to shake you off so easily.”

“Oh,” she said, looking at him dubiously. Then she added earnestly : “I believe you’re pulling my leg.”

“Never!” he breathed.

She got out of her car on the pavement side, pulled the leather apron over the seats, against possible rain, then came round to him, clutching a large handbag made of two-tone canvas matching her suit perfectly. He had half expected her to run away but she showed no sign of that at all. He eased the Bristol away from her car, leaned across to open the far door for her. She got in with easy grace, studying his profile.

“Side face, too?” he inquired.

“In every way,” she assured him.

“Before long I shall feel flattered. Do you mind opening your handbag?”

“Doing what?” she gasped.