Hilda had been staring at Reece and now she said, ‘Why didn’t you go while you could?’
He told her what had happened. Her face looked drawn and wretched. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I feel it is my fault. It was I who asked Max to leave that note. I was so anxious about my father and I thought maybe you’d have some news from Milan.’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘It’s not your fault.’ He looked at me. ‘It’s you who’ve got us all into this mess, Farrell,’ he accused.
I felt suddenly sick with tiredness. I hadn’t the energy to argue with him, to tell him I hadn’t known what it was all about until last night. I just stood there staring at him dumbly, unable to meet the anger and contempt in his eyes.
It was Hilda who answered for me. ‘That’s not true,’ she told him.
‘It is true,’ he answered. ‘If he hadn’t been so scared — if he’d done what we asked him in Milan—’
‘He’s done everything a man could do. He’s been—’
‘Have it your own way.’ He shrugged his shoulders. He looked at me and suddenly laughed. ‘It’s just as it was before. You’ve trapped the two of us.’
‘How do you mean — the two of you?’ I asked.
‘Walter Shirer and myself.’