The words hung on his lips as he realized that Miss Darrow with an inclination of the head toward the visitor, had vanished into the dressing-room.
As the door closed words less polite came forth.
But Crabb broke in: “Oh, I say, Ross, you don’t mean you’ve had the nerve——”
Ross Burnett’s brows drew together and his large frame seemed to grow compact.
“Hush, Mort,” he whispered. “You don’t understand. You’ve made an awful mess of things. Won’t you go?”
“But, my dear chap——”
“I’ll explain later. But go—please!”
With a glance toward the easel Mortimer Crabb went out.
Ross Burnett closed the door, shot its bolt and put his back against it. As the clatter of Crabb’s boots on the wooden stairs died away on the lower floor, he gave a sigh, folded his arms and waited.