CHAPTER XI
THE WAY OUT
The sound of the girl’s voice brought the men in the room to life. Her words were shaded to a tone of fearless scorn which must have bitten deep, for Alcatrante and the Japanese minister looked like school-boys caught in wrong-doing. The South American gnawed at his lip; the Japanese looked at the floor, and Orme now realized that the manner which had seemed so indicative of a masterful personality was the manner which springs from power—the manner that is built upon the assurance of a tremendous backing.
The tension was broken by Poritol. The little man’s dismay suddenly gave way to an eager and voluble excitement, and he rushed across the room, exclaiming: “Oh, my dear miss——”
“No names,” commanded Alcatrante harshly, turning on his subordinate.
“My dear young lady,” continued Poritol breathlessly, “I am the victim of your misunderstanding. You will permit me to explain.”
She answered with an even, cutting edge in her voice: “You cannot explain, Mr. Poritol.”
“But——” he began, blind to her meaning.
“I do not care to hear you,” she said; and Poritol slunk back to his former position. From his face it was clear that he had no desire except to get away.