She wore a dark dress, with lace at the neck and cuffs; absurd things to notice, but he noticed them. Her glossy dark hair dropped to her shoulders, curling inwards at the ends. The gun, a small automatic, was steady in her hand. “Go to the corner by the lamp,” she said, “and don’t try to be clever.” The voice was calm and untroubled, and he had heard it before; she was the girl who had taken the pendant to Pender’s flat. He obeyed her, backing step by step. The door behind her was ajar. Near it, was a telephone. Keeping him covered, she lifted the receiver with her free hand. He heard the faint burring sound. “Do you know of any good reason why I shouldn’t send for the police?” Mannering said: “Yes, I do.” “What is it?” “There’s more than a chance that it might seriously annoy Smith.” She started, and her forefinger moved away from the dial. Mannering watched her eyes. She wasn’t frightened, but suddenly she had become a little less certain of procedure.
