Sutane stirred and the familiar bent smile passed over his wide mouth.
“I thought you had.”
Campion looked at his own long brown fingers and spoke without taking his eyes from them.
“The police have a copy of Chloe’s marriage certificate,” he said slowly. “I told them about it. They got it from a church in Brixton. When she came down here and increased her blackmailing demands on her husband he lost his temper with her and . . .”
Sutane stretched himself suddenly.
“Oh, it wasn’t so simple as that, my dear fellow,” he said, turning over so that he lay on his stomach on the grass, with his elbows resting on the low flat step. “He didn’t know he was her husband, you see.”
Campion stared at him in fascinated resignation and Sutane went on, his pleasant voice playing dreamily with the wor
