"Jim, Jim, let's have a look!" she begged.
My answer was to place the package in my pocket. "Not here," I said in explanation. "You must remember that those murdering gentlemen aren't accounted for yet, and it'd be a pity to let them get hold of the very thing we've been keeping out of their clutches for so long."
"I never thought of that," she said with a crestfallen air. "Of course you're right. But where'll we go?"
"Any of the inner rooms. The drawing-room, say. That hasn't got any windows opening out on to the garden."
Moira caught my arm. "Come on, Jim," she cried, "I'm dying to know what is in it."
"The more haste the less speed," I remarked soberly. "Likewise there's many a slip between the cup and the lip."
"Don't, Jim, don't be pessimistic just when everything's beginning to turn out well."
"Beginning," I repeated. "You're right there. We're just beginning now."
But all the same she did not take her hand off my arm, and when hers slipped through mine in quite the good old way, I could not find it in my heart to tell her that she must do no such thing.
The drawing-room was just as comfortable a place as a man could wish, and I saw at a glance that there was no likelihood of our being disturbed there.