“Then show him up,” said Dale desperately, and darting across to where Valentina stood, he pointed to the inner door.
“Quick!” he cried.
“For your sake, yes,” she said, smiling calmly enough; but as he threw open the door, she flung one arm about his neck, and pressed her lips to his before he closed it upon her.
Then crossing quickly, he unfastened the other, caught up palette and brush, and dragged his great canvas round with its face to the wall.
He had not a moment to spare, for as he faced round, firm and defiant now, ready for anything that might come, Keren-Happuch entered, looked round wide-eyed and wondering for the model, and held the door wide for the Conte to enter.
Her position and the glance she gave round were not lost upon Armstrong, who frowned at her so severely that she hurried out.
“The crisis!” thought Dale, growing firm now that he was face to face with danger; and his eyes involuntarily measured his visitor’s physique.
The Conte’s first words set him wondering whether they were genuine or part of a plan laid by the wily Italian. For his face was smooth and smiling, and he came forward offering his hand in the frankest manner.
“Ah! my dear Mr Dale,” he cried, “it is a pleasure to see you again.”
Armstrong could not help taking the hand, but his grasp was cold and limp as that of his visitor.