"It is the doctor," came in Mademoiselle's pretty accents. "Oh, it is so cold upstairs, doctor. You must make us some machinery to warm us."
"We shall be colder yet, Mademoiselle," I replied indifferently; "we shall have the ices of Magellan refrigerating us to-morrow."
"Magellan," said Barraclough. "What the mischief does that mean?"
"Ask Mr. Holgate," I answered. "It's his affair, or he thinks it is. He has taken it on himself." I made my way to the electric-light knobs. "As it seems to be getting dark," I said, not without irony, "I will take the liberty of illuminating."
"Oh, it's none so dark," growled Barraclough. "We ought to be used to darkness by this time. We're not all children at nurse," he sneered palpably.
I turned the catch, but no light came. "It's gone wrong," I exclaimed.
"Yes, I did try it a little time ago," said Mademoiselle sweetly, "when Sir John and I were in so deep argument."
Of course it was a lie, but what did that matter. If I could have seen Barraclough's face at that moment I felt sure it would have advertised a sense of shame, despite his passivity. But Mademoiselle.... Well, I could see in the dusk the shadow of her face, and it was a handsome shadow. Almost I could see her smile. They were seated in the recesses of the saloon. I moved towards them.
"I suppose you understand the hang of this, Sir John," I said drily.
"I'm not a patent detective," he answered with his arrogant sneer, but I paid no heed, for I felt sure of settling him then and there.