“Was it a woman’s?”
Barnes looked round at him like a small animal alarmed.
“Yes, it was a woman’s. What makes you ask?”
“What’s it like?”
“Gold. Gold, I keep telling you.”
“When did you have it last?”
“Last night.”
“Well, it can’t have gone far.”
“No, blast it, of course it can’t,” said Barnes, searching with renewed impatience. He was throwing the clothes about the room again, and the odor of staleness became nauseating.
“I’m going to wash,” Michael announced, moving across to the bedroom.