“I daren’t open,” Bevis whispered, coming close to her, as if on the impulse of seeking protection—for to offer it was assuredly not in his mind. “It might be—”
“No! That’s impossible.”
“I daren’t go to the door. The risk is too frightful. He will go away, whoever it is, if no one answers.”
Both were shaking in the second stage of terror. Bevis put his arm about Monica, and felt her heart give great throbs against his own. Their passion for the moment was effectually quenched.
“Listen! That’s the clink of the letter-box. A card or something has been put in. Then it’s all right. I’ll wait a moment.”
He stepped to the door of the room, opened it without sound, and at once heard footsteps descending the stairs. In the look which he cast back at her, a grin rather than a smile, Monica saw something that gave her a pang of shame on his behalf. On going to the letter-box he found a card, with a few words scribbled upon it.
“Only one of our partners!” he exclaimed gleefully. “Wants to see me to-night. Of course he took it for granted I was out.”
Monica was looking at her watch. Past five o’clock.
“I think I must go,” she said timidly.
“But what are our arrangements? Do you still intend—”