Her breath came in quick little gasps; a subtle anger seemed to close her throat.
She sprang to her feet, steadied herself by the chair back, and without another word, her white hands clenched to her side, turned slowly into the opening leading to the hall.
Her astonishment and disgust were genuine.
At this instant the door of Holcomb's cabin swung back and a flow of light streamed out. Sperry halted and stood immovable in a protecting shadow. Thayor moved slowly across the compound. As his foot touched the lower step of the veranda a thin, dry laugh escaped the doctor's white lips.
"I've been waiting patiently for a nightcap with you," he said.
"Mental telepathy," returned his host. "I was just thinking of it myself. It's so late everybody has gone to bed, but I expect we can——No—here's Blakeman. Brandy and soda, Blakeman, and some cracked ice."
"Very good, sir—anything else, sir," replied Blakeman, pulling his face into shape—he had heard every word that had passed.
"No, that will do."
"Thank you, sir."
Sperry studied the butler's impassible face for a moment, measured with his eye the distance from the pantry window to the corner of the veranda, then he drew a long breath—the first he had drawn in some minutes.