"You're coming back here?" she asked quickly.
She thought his cheeks were very white.
"I can't tell," he answered. "But—don't worry."
He hurried Hamilton down the steps and pushed him into the car.
"To the Hôtel Normandie," he ordered the driver, as he stumbled in himself.
The bumping of the car hurt Monte's arm a good deal. In fact, with every bump he felt as if Hamilton were prodding his shoulder with a stiletto. Besides being unpleasant, this told rapidly on his strength, and that was dangerous. Above all things, he must remain conscious. Hamilton was quiet because he thought Monte still had the gun and was still able to use it; but let him sway, and matters would be reversed. So Monte gripped his jaws and bent his full energy to keeping control of himself until they crossed the Seine. It seemed like a full day's journey before he saw that the muddy waters were behind them. Then he ordered the driver to stop.
Hamilton's shifty eyes looked up.
"Hamilton," said Monte, "have you got it clear yet that—that Miss Stockton and I are engaged?"
Hamilton did not answer. His fingers were working nervously.
Monte, summoning all his strength, shook the fellow.