“I’m going to take it into the study,” said she. “I’m going to open it, in the presence of Sir Robert.”
“The devil you are,” retorted the young man, and a look of diabolical rage shot out of his dark eyes. “Give it back to me, Miss Pembury. You are behaving like a mad woman.”
But Rhoda had turned, and, with the gun-case held fast, had run back into the house.
The next moment she, half-way to the study, found herself tapped sharply on the shoulder. Jack Rotherfield was behind her, stooping to whisper to her.
“What are your terms?” asked he in her ear.
“Take out what is inside this case, and leave it with me,” said she in a voice as low as his.
“All right,” said he sullenly.
The next moment, in the half-light of the passage, he had opened the gun-case, taken out something rolled up in brown paper, and thrust it angrily into her arms.
“There you are then. Confound you!” growled he, as he turned quickly away with the empty case.
Rhoda’s brain reeled again.