'Thanks. But there's a whole lot of things to be arranged. We can't talk here. Let's go to my rooms.'
He spoke as though nothing were more natural. Alma, the blood throbbing at her temples, saw him beckon a crawling hansom.
'I can't come—now. I have a dreadful headache.'
'You only want to be quiet. Come along.'
The hansom had pulled up. Alma, ashamed to resist under the eyes of the driver, stepped in, and her companion placed himself at her side. As soon as they drove away he caught her hand and held it tightly.
'I can't go to your rooms,' said Alma, after a useless resistance. 'My head is terrible. Tell me whatever you have to say, and then take me to Baker Street Station. I'll see you again in a day or two.'
She did not feign the headache. It had been coming on since she left home, and was now so severe that her eyes closed under the torture of the daylight.
'A little rest and you'll be all right,' said Dymes.
Five minutes more would bring them to their destination. Alma pulled away her hand violently.
'If you don't stop him, I shall.'