Miss Greta moved quietly up the stairs with Napier at her side. "They've broken everything open?" she inquired, with contemptuous mouth.
"You know what they came for."
She seemed to consider that in its various bearings as she paused an instant. "It isn't part of what they came for, I suppose, to rob me of my savings?"
"They will tell you about that. But if you need anything—"
"I shall need everything! I have nothing fit to travel in." She spoke as though, amid the wreck of life and reputation, her wardrobe was the most important matter she had to think about.
"I should be glad," Napier answered, "if you would allow—you will find others equally ready, I dare say; but anything I could—" She would indignantly refuse, of course.
To his astonishment she stopped again, this time near the top landing, to say in a rapid whisper: "I must pay some bills. I am afraid I owe forty or fifty pounds."
Napier assured her that she would have a part at least of her money returned, "in some form."
"I greatly doubt it. I've heard how they rob us."
"I beg your pardon, they do nothing of the kind. Not in this country!"