“You’ll see. Just leave it to me.”
Orme smiled to himself, there in the darkness. Of course, he would leave it to her; but he did not see how she was to rid him of the watchful Japanese.
“There’s just one thing,” he whispered. “Whatever is done, will have to be done without help from outside. This is not a matter for the police.”
“I understand. Why can’t you just leave it to me? I don’t believe you trust me a little bit!”
“But I do,” he protested. “I am absolutely in your hands.”
He heard her sigh faintly. “I’m going to put down the window now,” she said. “It ain’t safe for me to stand here talking to you unless I do. That Arima fellow might pop up the fire-escape any time.”
She was back in a few moments. He had heard the window creak down, and had wondered whether the action would add to Arima’s suspicion.
“If he comes up now,” she explained in an undertone, “the glare on the outside of the window will keep him from seeing in very plain.”
After that she did not speak for some time, but the occasional movements of her body, as she leaned against the panel, were audible to Orme. He found himself wondering about her—how she had happened to take up the career of fortune-telling. She must have been a handsome woman; even now she was not unattractive.
The delay grew more and more irksome. It seemed to Orme as though he had been behind the panel for hours. After a while he asked: