"Mrs. Briggs is outside, dear," Olga told her gently.
"Oh! Dear old Nanny! She would never hold me back. She would understand.
Do you remember how she told us—that afternoon—about her mother?"
Yes, well Olga remembered. She had never forgotten. Back upon her mind flashed that vivid memory, and with it the memory of Max's eyes, green and intent, searching her face on the night that he had asked, "What do you know about the pain-killer?"
Violet's voice brought her back. "Where is he, Allegro? Is he still here?"
"No." Almost unconsciously Olga also spoke in a whisper. "He has gone back to Weir," she said. "He had to go; but—"
"But he will come back?" gasped Violet.
"Yes."
"Ah! And he may be here—at any time?" The words came quick and feverish; again that painful trembling seized her.
"He won't come in here," Olga said steadfastly.
"He will! He will!" breathed Violet. "I know him. There is nothing—he will not do—for the sake of his—profession." She broke off, gripping Olga with tense strength. "And I've nothing to defend myself with!" she panted. "They have taken—the knife—away!"