“Why, our flat there was heaven!” he exclaimed. She had him talking on the right tack now, and he held the course enthusiastically. Her ears reached out for other sounds than his words; and after a minute or two she heard a slight noise in her sitting-room—and she knew that Maisie Jones had entered; and she knew—in fact she was visualizing it—that Maisie had heard Jack’s voice, that Maisie had suddenly paused and was breathlessly listening.
“It was pleasant, Jack,” she said distinctly—her mind’s eye seeing the effect on the tense figure in the next room.
“I’ll never forget that little flat, sweetheart,” he enthused. “That week we spent at the Mordona—say, that was living!”
“And as Mr. and Mrs. Grayson—”
“I wish we were back there now, Mary!” And he seized her hands.
“Perhaps when you get things straightened out—and suspicion quieted down—”
“You mean about Maisie Jones?”
“Yes. Perhaps then we can go back to our flat in the Mordona.”
“No. Not back there. The Mordona won’t be safe for us until—you know! But this old town is full of other nice little flats—where we’ll be quiet and cozy and nobody’ll ever find us out. And we’ll do it the minute you say the word!”
“And I’ll say the word just as soon as it is safe. You must go, Jack, in just a minute, for I’m expecting some one.”