"I said you'd do something," said Daphne, leaning back easily in her long chair.
I stopped swinging my legs and looked at her.
"Did you, indeed," I said coldly.
My sister nodded dreamily.
"Then you lied, darling. In your white throat," I said pleasantly.
"By the way, d'you know if the petrol's come?"
"I don't even care," said Daphne. "But I didn't lie, old chap. My word is—"
"Your bond? Quite so. But not mine. The appointment I have in Town that day—"
"Which day?" said Daphne, with a faint smile.
"The fete day."
It was a bazaar fete thing. Daphne and several others—euphemistically styled workers—had conspired and agreed together to obtain money by false pretences for and on behalf of a certain mission, to wit the Banana. I prefer to put it that way. There is a certain smack about the wording of an indictment. Almost a relish. The fact that two years before I had been let in for a stall and had defrauded fellow men and women of a considerable sum of money, but strengthened my determination not to be entrapped again. At the same time I realized that I was up against it.