"Well—I thought that perhaps you'd come to my house. Only to get rid of these men and not to—get them into any trouble. Of course, no one in Hunston would annoy you when you were with me."
If he had hated the thought of accepting protection from Mary Carstairs less intensely, he might have laughed aloud. As Higginson's catspaw, she was certainly the most screaming failure that the whole world could have yielded. What, oh what, would the old gum-shoe have said if he could have heard that invitation?
"Thank you, but that is quite impossible."
"I am awfully sorry."
There was a faint stiffening in her manner. She began to draw on her right glove, slowly tucking out of sight the thumb with the tiny white spot on the nail.
"I hoped that perhaps you might come to dinner with us. I haven't had any yet. May I—suggest another way out of all this, then? There is a back gate to this place, leading into a kind of alley, you know. I am sure that they—these poor men—haven't thought of that. Couldn't you please go out—"
"Certainly," said Varney. "Certainly. Yes, indeed. I'll do anything—anything in the wide world to avoid getting thumped on the head with Mr. Hackley's walking-stick."
Her face told him that she found his tone and manner somewhat disconcerting, but she took no notice of it otherwise.
"I hope it won't be necessary to do anything more than that. But if it should be, I hope you'll do it. I'm afraid I've failed to make you see that this is really serious. Good-night."
But Varney, having a question to ask her, could not let her go yet.