“Because if ever men wanted the darkness it is now.”
It was a respite, for no one uttered a word for a few moments. Then in a low, angry voice, James Clareborough spoke again, and, with his every nerve on the strain, Chester noted that he took his glowing cigar from his lips and held it down between his knees.
“Curse them! Who would ever have thought of the fools attempting that?”
“Where’s your wife, uncle?” said a voice which made the hand with which Marion clung to Chester’s wrist give a slight twitch.
“Upstairs, lying down, my boy,” said another voice, and it was Chester’s turn to start as he recognised it as one he had heard before, though he could not make out where.
“Is she much hurt?” said Robert Clareborough.
“More frightened than hurt,” said the same voice. “Of course it is a terrible shock.”
“Horrible! Here, this must be the end of it. What do you say, Paddy?”
“Confound it! yes. I’m sick.”
“Will you stop this cursed preaching, Rob?” snarled James Clareborough. “You fools! You know there can be no end to it. What are you talking about? It was their own fault.”