"Is that you, Leo?" said the voice. "Dear, I have waited so long for you."
The door was opened, and on the threshold stood Janet Laverack, never doubting but that it was Roddick who waited on the other side. She was dressed as she had been for dinner that night at the Folly; but she had taken off her sodden shoes and stockings, and her little white feet peeped out from a pair of Roddick's old slippers, absurdly too large for her. The bottom of her skirt, too, was grievously bedrabbled.
Griff stepped into the light.
"I am Roddick's friend," he said vaguely.
The girl looked and looked at him. He would have been an alarming object enough in broad daylight, and with help to be had for the asking; but to-night he showed ghastly, dishevelled as he was, his clothes steaming like a moor fog now that he had come into the warmth. Janet, however, knowing that she must face the danger by aid of her wits alone, neither screamed nor gave way.
"Who are you?" she asked in a low voice.
"Griff Lomax. I—I came to ask Roddick's help. Isn't he at home?"
A curious half-smile played about the girl's lips.
"I came to ask his help, too; so we are friends so far. I know you well by name. You have had trouble lately?"
Griff went light-headed for a moment. The oak panelling of the hall circled round him; he lifted his eyes to the girl's to steady himself.