CHAPTER SEVENMr Campion leant back in the taxicab, which smelt like the inside of the dressing-up trunk in the attic of his childhood’s home, and glanced at the shadowy form beside him with a return of a respect he had forgotten. The six years between eighteen and twenty-four had certainly not robbed Amanda of her pep. On the whole he was inclined to think they must have added power to her elbow.
It was now a little after twelve, and the night, it seemed, was yet a babe.
“What I still don’t understand is how you got there,” he said. “I thought aeroplane works were holies of holies.”
“So they are.” Amanda sounded cheerful in the darkness. “It took me three and a half years to do it, but I’m a pretty good engineer, you know. I went straight into the shops when I got some money. I hadn’t a
