Black August by Dennis Wheatley

moratorium to the breakfast tables of the millions.
    â€˜Hullo!’ he said. ‘So sorry—had no idea you were still up—only came in for my nightcap—won’t be a second.’ Then he walked over to the cupboard where he kept his whisky.
    Ann noticed through a sort of haze that Kenyon was standing up with his back to the mantelpiece. His hair was rather ruffled, but he looked remarkably self-possessed.
    â€˜It is I who should apologise,’ he said. ‘I’ve been rottenly ill—ate something at supper that didn’t agree with me I think. Anyhow, Miss Croome insisted that I should come in and lie down in the dark for a bit, and I’m feeling ever so much better now.’
    â€˜Oh?’ Gregory nodded. To Ann’s relief he showed no shadow of disbelief in this preposterous story; ‘how rotten for you—may I suggest that a whisky-and-soda wouldn’t do you any harm—buck you up a bit before you go home!’
    â€˜Thanks, that’s nice of you.’ Kenyon drew his tongue quickly across his burning lips, ‘I could do with a drink!’
    â€˜Good, here we are—say when.’ Gregory squirted a siphon into an extra glass which he had already filled a quarter full with whisky, and Kenyon picked it up. Ann stood there marvelling at their quiet, easy behaviour, as they talked casually of the moratorium for a moment. By some mysterious freemasonry they already seemed to be on the best of terms, although she had forgotten even to introduce them.
    â€˜Well, I must get along.’ Kenyon set down his glass.
    â€˜You’ll find a taxi at the end of the road,’ said Gregory affably.
    â€˜Thanks—thanks too for the drink. I’ll give you a ring, Ann, if I may—sorry to have been such a nuisance to you.’
    Kenyon was standing by the door, but Ann felt that he might have been a thousand miles away. By the time she had reached the landing he was half-way down the stairs.
    â€˜Don’t bother to come down,’ he called. ‘I can easily let myself out.’
    The front door banged while she was still upon the second step. ‘He might have waited,’ she thought, ‘but of course the darling was trying to make it seem ordinary and natural. Anyhow Gregory couldn’t have seen much!’ She yawned, suddenly realising how tired she was and went back into the sitting-room to fetch her coat.
    Gregory stood there grinning like a fiend. ‘Ann,’ he said, ‘Ann—how could you be such a little idiot?’
    â€˜What do you mean?’ she cried, her eyelids lowering angrily.
    â€˜I never meant you to go and overstep the mark like that!’
    Misunderstanding his meaning completely she flushed scarlet. Thank you, Gregory, what I choose to do is entirely my own affair.’
    â€˜Of course,’ he was serious now, ‘but why in God’s name pick on a man like that?’
    â€˜He’s worth a thousand like you!’ she snapped.
    â€˜Perhaps, but he won’t be any earthly good to you if we all have to get out in a hurry—and that’s what it is coming to, you believe me!’
    â€˜Why?’ Ann demanded truculently.
    â€˜Because he’ll be too busy with his own crowd.’
    â€˜What exactly do you mean?’ she said slowly.
    â€˜Well, you’re a typist-secretary aren’t you?’
    â€˜What about it? He knows that.’
    Gregory set down his glass with slow deliberation; his mouth hung slightly open. ‘Does he? Well, do you seriously think he’ll give a damn what happens to you when the crash comes? You’ve just been an excellent amusement for the evening that’s all. A little quiet fun which will be forgotten in the morning. Surely you realise that, unless … Good God! perhaps you don’t know who he is?’
    â€˜I do—his name is Kenyon Wensleadale. I was telling you about him only this evening, and that he was getting