Beverley threw open the door between the two rooms, hurried ahead, and turned on a light.
"Now, lay me on this bed," Clo commanded.
Having obeyed, O'Reilly stood as if awaiting further orders. Clo glanced from him imploringly to Mrs. Sands. "I've gone through such a lot!" she moaned. "I've suffered so! I felt I could never get home alive. Please, Mr. O'Reilly—you've been kind—don't let it all be for nothing!"
"What do you want of me?" he stiffly inquired.
"Only for you to talk to Mrs. Sands. In that next room—my room. Nobody will disturb you. If the nurse comes back, she'll come into her own room first. That's why I asked you to bring me to it. I couldn't persuade you to give me the papers. Perhaps even Mrs. Sands can't persuade you. But I beg, I pray you, to give her the chance. Listen to what she has to say."
"Very well," he answered, grudgingly. "I'll do what you ask. But I'll do it for your sake."
Beverley had remained on the threshold of the next room. Now she retreated into it. O'Reilly followed; but at the door he turned. "Good-bye," he said to Clo.
"Good-bye," she echoed. "And thank you again—for everything."
She had more to thank him for than he knew—the contents of her tightly clutched hand.