"You might better dry up," said Anthony with his incomprehensible calm.
Boller turned dully. Beatrice was with them again, and yet there had been no scream, no crash. There was about Beatrice nothing at all to suggest a woman who has tasted the sweet of revenge. White lips shut, she sailed past them, on her way to Wilkins's pantry and his humble bedroom beyond.
"Didn't she find her?" choked Boller.
"She didn't!"
"Why not?"
"She isn't there."
"Where'd she go?"
Anthony smiled cynical condescension.
"Once in a while I'm able to manage these things if I'm left alone," he said, assuming much credit to which he had no title.
"Well, is she out of this flat?" Johnson Boller asked hopefully.