Katherine made no reply to this filial observation, and Lenox presently went on:
“I am rather like Chubby. I delight in a good murder, and besides—well, knowing Derek makes a difference.”
Katherine nodded.
“So you lunched with him yesterday,” pursued Lenox reflectively. “Do you like him, Katherine?”
Katherine considered for a minute or two.
“I don’t know,” she said very slowly.
“He is very attractive.”
“Yes, he is attractive.”
“What don’t you like about him?”
Katherine did not reply to the question, or at any rate not directly. “He spoke of his wife’s death,” she said. “He said he would not pretend that it had been anything but a bit of most marvellous luck for him.”
“And that shocked you, I suppose,” said Lenox. She paused, and then added in rather a queer tone of voice: “He likes you, Katherine.”
“He gave me a very good lunch,” said Katherine, smiling.
Lenox refused to be sidetracked.
“I saw it the night he came here,” she said thoughtfully. “The way he looked at you; and you are not his usual type—just the opposite. Well, I suppose it is like religion—you get it at a certain age.”