Clay indicated the handsome room and its rich fittings with a wave of his hand.
“You have had your share of the plunder, and you hadn’t a shack to call your own when I first got hold of you. Now, when I’m up against an awkward job, you go back on me. However, if I wanted you—”
He broke off, looking up sharply as a draught of colder air entered the room; and Osborne, turning with a start, saw Ruth standing on the rug. Her face was in shadow, for she was outside the direct illumination of the shaded lamp, but so far as he could discern, her attitude was easy and natural.
“Walter has just come back with the car and brought this telegram,” she said. “I thought it might be important.”
Osborne was partly reassured by her voice. She spoke in her normal tone, but he wished he could see her better.
“Thank you,” he said, opening the envelope. “We’ll have finished our talk before very long.”
Ruth went out in silence, and Clay looked hard at Osborne.
“Could she have heard?”
“I don’t think so. I hope not.”
“I’d soon have found out if it had been a man,” Clay said grimly. “Anyhow, all she could have picked up wouldn’t give her much of a clew.”