The Victim in Victoria Station by Jeanne M. Dams Page A

one of them into saying yes. Don’t look like that; I was joking! No, but I want to—oh, I don’t know, size them up, get a feel for what they’re like. People reveal a lot when they talk. Seeing them in person would be better, but I know what you’d say to that!”
    His blue eyes flashed dangerously. I pretended not to notice.
    â€œSo why don’t we go to my house and make a few phone calls? We have their home telephone numbers, and they should be getting home soon. Who knows, I might get an inspiration, figure out some terribly intelligent question to ask them!”
    â€œWhy don’t we do that?” Nigel made it a question rather than a suggestion. He ran his hands through his thick dark hair, making it stand on end. “All right, I’ll tell you why we won’t do that. Number one, if you’re right and the murderer is connected with the company, one of them might recognize your voice.”
    â€œOh. Yes. Well, then, you do the talking, and I’ll listen.”
    â€œNumber two,” he said, ignoring my suggestion, “what if they have caller display and they get suspicious? Then they have your telephone number. And number three—I don’t need any more reasons, it’s simply too dangerous!”
    He sat back and crossed his arms, and I sighed, wishing Nigel would stop trying to protect me. Arguing wastes such a lot of time and is so exhausting.
    â€œNigel, I have the lists,” I pointed out gently. “There is nothing you can do to stop me making some phone calls. If you’re there with me, you may be able to make some suggestions or help in some way. I need allies, my dear, and I have only you and the Andersons! But if you’d rather not help, I’ll do it by myself.”
    I stood up. He swore under his breath and kicked at his book bag. “I can’t leave until six,” he muttered angrily. “And Inga’s expecting me.”
    â€œDon’t worry, I’ll call and tell her you’re helping me. And
    â€œQuestions? About what?” She sounded somewhat wary, but no more than I do when I suspect a telemarketer. “I don’t wish to take in any more magazines—”
    â€œNo, no,” said Nigel quickly. “I’m calling about Multilinks International. I understand you are executive secretary to Mr. Spragge?”
    He had his fingers crossed, I saw. So did I.
    â€œYes, I work for Mr. Spragge,” she replied after a pause. “What is this about, Mr. Robinson?” She’d gotten his name right, having heard it only once. I was extremely glad I hadn’t let Nigel use his real name.
    â€œThere is a rumor circulating that the stock issue Multilinks had planned is now on hold, owing to internal problems. Would you care to comment on that?”
    â€œWhere did you hear that? And how did you learn my name?”
    Sharp, defensive.
    â€œWe do not reveal our sources, Mrs. Forbes.” He sounded so pompous that I had to stifle a giggle. “Is the rumor true?”
    â€œI can’t say anything about that. Excuse me, Mr. Robinson, but I have something in the oven—”
    â€œMay I ring up in the morning? At the office?”
    â€œYou may do anything you wish, but Mr. Spragge does not speak to reporters. Nor do I, sir.” She hung up smartly.
    â€œWhew.” Nigel put down the phone and wiped his brow. “What a dragon! If they’re all like that one—”
    â€œYou got by with it,” I said. “She believed every word. You did very well, in fact, and we learned something.”
    â€œYou may have learned something. I was too worried. I thought she was going to come right through the phone!”
    â€œShe was simply being the cool, efficient, protective secretary she is. Oh, I know a lot about her now. She’s not young, she has an excellent memory, she’s loyal to her boss and her company. Well done, Nigel! Now to the next