“You are thinking of some other woman, is that it?”

“Oh, you needn’t worry; it is purely a fancy portrait. ‘Portrait of a lady with grey eyes.’ ”

Mirelle said sharply, “When did you meet her?”

Derek Kettering laughed, and his laughter had a mocking, ironical sound.

“I ran into the lady in the corridor of the Savoy Hotel.”

“Well! What did she say?”

“As far as I can remember, I said, ‘I beg your pardon,’ and she said, ‘It doesn’t matter,’ or words to that effect.”

“And then?” persisted the dancer.

Kettering shrugged his shoulders.

“And then⁠—nothing. That was the end of the incident.”