I shut the door and addressed myself to him roughly.
“Come,” I said. “There’s a necessity for action here. Where can we talk together?”
“How did you find me?” he said, faintly. “It isn’t true, is it?—no—not there”—for I was turning to the door of a back room that seemed to promise privacy.
“Where, then?” I said, impatiently. “Hurry, man! This is no time for dallying.”
He tried to pull himself together. For the moment he seemed utterly unnerved.
“Jason,” cried a voice from the very room I had approached.
I dropped my stick with a crash on the floor.
“Who’s that?” I said, in a loud, wavering voice.
The handle turned. He came weakly from his corner to put himself before me. It was too late, for the door had opened and a woman, with a baby in her arms, was standing on the threshold.
And the woman was Zyp.