“It isn’t that old snake, is it?” asked Joan with a shiver. “Lord! that unnerves me! I never go to bed at night without looking under, or turning the clothes right down to the foot! They ought to have found it months ago if the police——”
At this point she caught Monty Newton’s eye, cold, menacing, malevolent, and the rest of her speech died on her lips.
Mirabelle went upstairs to dress, and Joan would have followed but the man beckoned her.
“You’re a little too talkative, Joan,” he said, more mildly than she had expected. “The snake is not a subject we wish to discuss at dinner. And listen!” He walked into the passage and looked round, then came back and closed the door. “Keep that girl near you.”
“Who is going to dance with me?” she asked petulantly. “I look like having a hell of a lively night!”
“Benton will be there to look after you, and one of the ‘Old Guard’——”
He saw the frightened look in her face and chuckled.
“What’s the matter, you fool?” he asked good-humouredly. “He’ll dance with the girl.”
“I wish those fellows weren’t going to be there,” she said uneasily, but he went on, without noticing her:
“I shall arrive at half-past eleven. You had better meet me near the entrance to the American bar. My party didn’t turn up, you understand. You’ll get back here at midnight.”