Several buckets of water poured over Phil Courtney could have made him no wetter than he was. Yet the sensation of a bucket of water flung in the face, the drop of anti-climax after the grotesque thought that had occurred to him, partly restored sane values. If they were not altogether restored, it was because Vicky Fane moaned.
"What's going on here?" he said. "Do you know there's supposed to be a burglar in the house?"
"I — burglar? How do you know?"
"Mrs. Propper phoned over to the major's. Didn't you hear me yelling outside?"
"N-no. Was it you who made that noise?"
"What noise?"
"A — about twenty minutes ago. When Vicky'd taken her sleeping-tablets and gone to sleep, and I was t-trying to. I was frightened out of my wits. It was a noise like something heavy falling. Downstairs. I w-went down to look, but I was frightened and I ran back up again."
"Go on. Anything else?"
Ann had her hands pressed flat to her fiery cheeks. Her eyes regarded him with incredulous horror. Her mind was evidently obsessed with only one thing.
"You," she said slowly, "thought that I…"