‘Whose orders?’
‘Well, I’m—I’m—the fact is, I’m a married woman, and it was my husband’s orders.’
‘Who is your husband?’
‘Tom Jackson—Jules, you know, head waiter at the Grand Babylon.’
‘So Jules’s real name is Tom Jackson? Why did he want you to leave without giving notice?’
‘I’m sure I don’t know, Miss Racksole. I swear I don’t know. He’s my husband, and, of course, I do what he tells me, as you will some day do what your husband tells you. Please heaven you’ll get a better husband than mine!’
Miss Spencer showed a sign of tears.
Nella fingered the revolver, and put it at full cock. ‘Well,’ she repeated, ‘why did he want you to leave?’ She was tremendously surprised at her own coolness, and somewhat pleased with it, too.
‘I can’t tell you, I can’t tell you.’
‘You’ve just got to,’ Nella said, in a terrible, remorseless tone.