"Is it money you want? All the money I have is on that dressing-table. Take it and go."
He shook his head, now observing the wealth of hair, the healthy, aristocratic poise of shoulders and arms, and the depths of her eyes.
"I'm not a burglar. I don't want your money."
"Well, then, what do you want?" She was beginning to be impatient.
There was a sound of rapid steps down the corridor. Jarvis sprang toward the door, his eyes still intent on hers.
"Listen ... they're coming!... They mustn't search this room—do you understand—you must put them off." He assured himself that the upper bolt was intact and shot tightly. "I'm not what you think I am.... Is there no way out that way, through the door over there behind you?"
She shook her head.
"No, that is my maid's room."
"The fire-escape—where is that?"
"In the hall opposite."