I am plunging deeper into the morass! Still, I have at last accounted for my presence.
“Mr. Benzine did not warn me of this, madame,” I reply, coldly. “I apologize and I withdraw.”
I make a step towards the door, but the large form of Fisher still intervenes.
“Then Benzine sent you?” he says.
“He did, though evidently under a misapprehension.”
“And what about Smith?” asks Fisher, with an approach to intelligence in his bovine eye.
“Well, what about him?” I ask, defiantly.
“Did he send you, too?”
“My reception has been such that I decline to give any further explanations.”
“That is all very well,” says Fisher—“that is all very well—”