“Then if it must be done,” she cried, “let me do the worst part of it!”
He looked at her, puzzled, not comprehending the source of her passionate cry, blindly wondering if her over-adventurous life was not getting a deeper and deeper hold on her. But her next question put him to shame.
“Jim, if I help you in this, if I do all that has to be done, will you promise me that you will make it bring you closer to your work on your amplifier, and your transmitting camera? Can’t you promise to get back to that decent work once more?”
“I’ll promise, if you’ll make me one promise in return,” said Durkin, after a moment of silent thought.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Will you let me hold over this Singford stone, for a few weeks?”
“But why?” she asked, aghast.
“To oil the curtain that has to go up on our next act!” he answered, grimly. “I mean a few hundred, now, would make things so simple again.”
“No,” she protested fiercely, “it must not, it shall not, be done. The Blue Pear must go back to London tomorrow!”
“It will mean some hard work for us both, then.”