He wheeled round and bent over her. There was something of violence in his action.
"Tell me nothing!" he ordered harshly. "Be silent! Anne, do you hear me? Do you hear me?"
Under the compulsion of his look and voice she submitted at last. Trembling she hid her face.
And in another moment she heard his step as he went out, heard him close the door and the sharp click of the key as he turned it in the lock.
CHAPTER XII
For many, many seconds after his departure she lay without breathing, exactly as he had left her, listening, listening with all the strength that remained to her for the sounds of conflict.
But all she heard was Piet's voice pitched so low that she could not catch a word. Then came Jerry's in sharp, staccato tones. He seemed to be surprised at something, surprised and indignant. Twice she heard him fling out an emphatic denial. And, while she still listened with a panting heart, there came the tread of their feet upon the stairs, and she knew that they had descended to the lower regions.
For a long, long while she still crouched there listening, but there came to her straining ears no hubbub of blows—only the sound of men's voices talking together in the room below her, with occasional silences between. Once indeed she fancied that Jerry spoke with passionate vehemence, but the outburst—if such it were—evoked no response.
Slowly the minutes dragged away. It was growing very late. What could be happening? What were they saying to each other? When—when would this terrible strain of waiting be over?