"Hush!" whispered the detective sharply. "Some one coming!"
XVI: A Woman of Note
At the warning sound of approaching footsteps, Creighton whipped an envelope from his pocket and dropped into it the precious bit of blue steel he had recovered from the crack beneath the French window; he smoothed down the carpet with a quick sideways flirt of his foot, thrust the envelope into his coat, and had barely time to hiss one further admonition into Krech's attentive ear.
"Not a word of this to a soul!"
"My lips are sealed," declared the big man.
Miss Ocky entered the room to find two gentlemen engaged in conversation close by an open window out of which they were looking while their backs were tranquilly turned to the apartment. When she said, "Excuse me!" they pivoted about as one, and the synchronic promptitude with which they uttered the same question did credit to their bringing up.
"How is Mrs. Varr?"
"Much quieter—much better, thank you." Miss Ocky lighted a cigarette with the air of one who has earned it, and dropped wearily into a chair. "I was as much upset as you must have been when she turned up there in the study. Hardly necessary to make excuses for her, is it? She is not very strong, and she has been through enough in the last two days to wreck an Amazon."
"Doctor worried about her?" asked Krech. "Is there anything Mrs. Bolt or my wife can do? I know that's the first thing they'll ask."