“She won’t get a knife. And if my way doesn’t work I can always kill him. He’s useful. We’re getting up-stream faster than we would without him.”
“He’s too willing to go up the river, I think.”
“There’s no help for him up there, is there?”
“I don’t know. You’d better do what I say.”
“Oh, shut up. Go and pack the grub. We’ll start soon.”
The woman went to obey with her customary shrug.
Stonor had much food for thought in this conversation. He marked with high satisfaction that the way the woman spoke did not for a moment suggest that Imbrie had any rights over Clare, nor that he had ever possessed her in the past. Listen as he might, he could gain no clue to the relationship between the two speakers. He hoped they might betray themselves further later on. Meanwhile the situation was hazardous in the extreme. There was no doubt the woman would soon wear Imbrie down. If he, Stonor, could only communicate with Clare it would help.
Imbrie turned to Clare with what he meant for an ingratiating smile. “Is your memory coming back at all?” he asked.
In itself there was nothing offensive in the question, and Clare had the wit to see that nothing was to be gained by unnecessarily snubbing the man. “No,” she said simply.
“But you’re all right in every other way. There’s nothing the matter with you?”