A curious smile traveled across Sharpless's face, having the equally curious effect of making him look older.
"No," he returned. "Besides, how did I do it? I'm no ghost or genius, whatever my superiors in the Royal Engineers may think.'' He consulted his wrist-watch. "Phil, I've got to get downstairs again, or the inspector will be kicking up a row. You stay here with her, will you?"
The hair rose on Courtney's conservative scalp. "I can't stay here!"
"Oh, yes you can. And you're going to." Sharpless grew desperately serious. "Listen to me. You were very ha-ha this morning about my psychic fit. But there was something funny going on under the surface, and there still is. I can smell it. While I do, I'd just as soon Vicky wasn't out of the sight of somebody I can trust."
"Rubbish! You don't think anybody would try to-?"
"I was right once, and I can be right again. For the love of Mike don't make objections. It's not very much I'm asking you to do, is it? Just to stay here until I come up again? Then can't you be a decent bloke and oblige me for once?" "All right, all right."
"Thanks. And now," said Sharpless, straightening the wings of his tie, "for more of the inquisition. I'll try not to be long. Make yourself at home."
The technique of making yourself at home under these conditions has not been denned by the best authorities.
Courtney, when the door had closed behind his companion, looked moodily round the room. He saw a brocaded chair, and rejected it. He tried to interest himself in the two or three pictures on the walls, but this floor also had its own creaks, and walking about produced them all as evidences of intrusion.
He could hear the ticking of the clock, and Vicky Fane's soft, steady breathing. She was attractive, right enough; but he thought he would be hanged if he let any woman land him in such a mess.