"Thanks," she said quietly, "it would be better."
They seemed to have very little to say. She saw Harry furtively looking at her, but she was oblivious of him, for her thoughts were beyond him, over his head, in the paint closet where Jim Horton sat uncomfortably, awaiting the moment of release But how could she effect it now? It seemed almost enough of luck to have hidden Jim Horton's hat before they had entered. She knew that his predicament was hardly to his liking and in spite of her entreaties, feared that any moment he might be opening the door and facing the situation.
And when Barry Quinlevin returned to the room in a moment, his face shining with his vigorous ablutions, any immediate hopes she may have had of Jim's release were dashed to the ground.
"Ye'd better be going to yer room, child, and get yer beauty sleep," he said. "I want to talk to Harry."
That he wanted to be alone with her husband was evident, and the request was something in the nature of a command. Still wondering what she had better do, she got up and moved slowly toward the door into the kitchen. They would talk—she would watch at the door and listen.
"Very well," she said languidly, "perhaps I'll feel better if I lie down for awhile—" and went out of the room, closing the door behind her. But she did not go into her room. All alive with uncertainty and apprehension, she crouched by the door, listening intently. The keyhole was large. Through it she could see the closet upon the opposite side of the studio where Jim was concealed, and what they said she could hear distinctly.
"Well, Harry boy," said Quinlevin, "here we are again, and with Nora close at hand, ready for the 'coup.' There can't be any haggling or boggling now. A clean million we'll get from it, or my name's not B.Q."
"Did you have any trouble getting Nora to come?"
"A little—but five thousand pounds settles her business. Nora was always a bit of rogue, but she couldn't deny real genius. And then, a bit of blarney——"
"But the birth certificate——"