“What are you going to do?” she asked, making no attempt to resist or escape.
Ever so slightly the pressure of his hands upon her throat strengthened and increased. A very little more and the lovely thing of life he watched would be broken and cold for ever. Her eyes were steady, she showed no sign of fear, she stood perfectly still, her hands loosely clasped together before her. He groaned, and his arms fell to his side, helpless. Without the slightest change of expression, she said:
“What were you going to do?”
“I don't know,” he answered. “Do you ever go mad? I do, I think. Perhaps you do too, and that explains it. Do you know where Charley Wright is?”
“Yes,” she answered directly. “Why? Did you know him, then?”
“You know where he is now?” Dunn repeated.
She nodded quietly.
“I heard from him only last week,” she said.
“I am certainly mad or you are,” he muttered, staring at her with eyes in which such wonder and horror showed that it seemed there really was a touch of madness there.
“What is the matter?” she asked.