“Sh—h!”
Mrs Brood was descending the stairs, lightly, eagerly. In another instant she entered the room.
“How nice the fire looks!” she cried. Never had she been more radiantly, seductively beautiful. “My cablegram, where is it?”
The old men made a simultaneous dash for the long-neglected envelope. Mr Dawes succeeded in being the first to clutch it in his eager fingers.
“Better read it, Mrs Brood,” he panted, thrusting it into her hand. “Maybe it's bad news.”
She regarded him with one of her most mysterious smiles.
“No, my friend, it is not bad news. It is good news; it's from my husband.”
“But you haven't read it,” gasped Mr Riggs.
“Ah, but I know, just the same.” She deliberately slit the envelope with a slim finger and held it out to them. “Read it if you like.”
They solemnly shook their heads, too amazed for words. She unfolded the sheet and sent her eyes swiftly over the printed contents. Then, to their further stupefaction, she pressed the bit of paper to her red lips. Her eyes flashed like diamonds.