Her sharp little teeth nipped my neck savagely.
"Virginia," I said, "what I had to say—what I mean is—"
I never said it. Her mouth was suddenly glued to mine and she melted into my arms.
"Damn you!" I told her. "There."
The apartment door-bell was buzzing like an accusation.
"Tell them to go away," she murmured. "Say we're not at home."
I disentangled myself, ran to the door and jiggled the button that released the downstairs catch. "Go and make yourself decent," I told her. "I'll stall them if you aren't too long."
I listened as the footsteps slowly mounted the stairs. It was a man's step. Then came a brisk tap on the brass knocker. I opened up. It was A. J. Harcourt of the F.B.I. He seemed rather surprised to see me.
"Good morning, Mr. Tompkins," he began. "I thought that—"
"Oh, come on in," I urged him. "Mrs. Rutherford will be out in a moment. I—we...."