We were now ready to begin, but she still seemed reluctant to say anything, and I wasn’t chancing a wrong remark that might put her off. We stared at the garden, the sea and the moon while the hands of my wrist-watch moved on.
She said suddenly, “I’m sorry about the way I—I acted. I mean offering you money to leave me alone. I know it was the wrong approach, but I didn’t want to give anything away until I had had a chance to find out what kind of man you are. The fact is I want your help. I’m in a mess, and I don’t know how to get out of it. I’ve been an awful fool, and I’m scared. I’m scared out of my wits.”
She didn’t look scared, but I didn’t tell her so.
“I wish I knew for certain if he knows of this place,” she went on, as if talking to herself. “If he does he’s certain to come here.”
“Suppose we take this nice and slow?” I said mildly. “We have all the time in the world.
Why was it important I shouldn’t answer the telephone? Let’s start with that one.”
“Because he would know where you were, and he’s looking for you,” she said, as if she were talking to a dim-witted child.
“You haven’t told me who he is. Is it Sherrill?”
“Of course,” she said shortly.
“Why is he looking for me?”