"But still—"
Ross turned on the girl. "What do you care about it, whether I do or whether I don't? Are you afraid Mawson might get hurt?"
His companion's face flamed. She started to turn away.
But before she could move, Ross caught her by the shoulders. His fingers gouged into the soft flesh. "Don't try that! I'm not in the mood for it, and I've heard better stories than the one you've been telling. To listen to you talk, you're not even too bright.
"Only I don't believe that—not for a minute, because Pike Mawson's not the kind of man to send a giggling girl out to take care of his business. So throw out the act: you've got brains and judgment; admit it!"
The color drained from the girl's face as Ross spoke. Twisting, she cringed from his fingers.
He shook her. "Tell me the truth, rack you! Why did Mawson send you out here with Cheng? What makes him so sure he can trust you?"
No answer.
Savagely, Ross flung the girl into a seat and turned his back on her. "You're a fool!" he lashed bitterly. "A fool, and a liar, and the kind of trollop who'll run a murderer's errands!"
"Shut up!" This from Veta. Eyes flashing, she jumped from the chair, caught Ross by the elbow, and whirled him. Her hand whipped up and in, slapping—once, twice, three times....