The animal in the chair got to her feet.
She walked straight ahead of her. Without looking at it, she passed the little round table which held the revolver and the dagger.
It was darkish at the other end of the room. Reaching the windows, she bent down. She seemed to peer and grope, searching. She pounced on the silver cigarette box, took a cigarette out of it, and pushed it aside. Then she searched for the box of matches; the high heels of her slippers creaked and cracked on the bad flooring as she searched. The seconds lengthened. From Vicky Fane came suddenly a little moaning cry.
"She can't find it, you see," said Rich.
"This is plain cruelty," said Sharpless, who was white to his lips. "I won't have it any longer."
"You won't have it, Captain Sharpless?" inquired Arthur.
"Never mind the matches. You needn't bring me a match," said Rich. His voice was soothing. It reached out softly across the room. It seemed to draw a blanket of warmth round her shoulders as she stood trembling. "Bring me the cigarette instead."
Vicky did so.
Rich looked at the grand piano in the corner by the windows.
"She plays?" Rich asked Arthur.