She put her two hands on his shoulders and brought her face close to his; he sensed the great languorous eyes in the dark. "Trust me," she whispered. "You will never regret it!"
Greg was exquisitely uncomfortable. He desired to make use of this woman if he could, but he found himself unable to produce the slightest semblance of warmth. He got out of it the best way he could.
"A man bound hand and foot like this can feel nothing for a woman," he said. "He is not a man but a mere log! Free my hands and I'll show you!"
Her instinct was not deceived. She drew away with a sharp little movement in which Greg apprehended danger. "How can I trust you if you will not trust me?" she said somberly.
"What difference does it make how I came here if the main thing for both of us is to get out?"
"I couldn't go with you unless I knew who you were. Won't you tell me how you came here?"
Greg was already at the end of his powers of dissimulation. "No," he said curtly.
She rose with a single movement, and gliding to the door threw it open. "Francisco!" she called.
De Socotra's leisurely figure appeared in the light of the doorway. "Well, my dear?" he drawled mockingly.
She was glad to throw off the mask, it seemed. "I can get nothing out of this fellow. Better hand him over to the men."