DREXEL slipped down and was standing at the table when the bolt shot back and she entered. She closed the door, and stood looking a moment at him, and he gazed back at her. Despite those beauty-murdering clothes, the spell of her personality was more sovereign even than yesternight.
She was the first to speak. “I have come,” said she in that low rich voice that set his every nerve to vibrating, “to thank you and apologize.”
He could only incline his head.
“To thank you for what you so gallantly did for me last night.”
Drexel found his voice, and he could not keep a little irony out of his words. “Your thanks seem rather oddly expressed.” He motioned about the imprisoning room.
“It is for that I would apologize. I am sorry. But it seemed to us necessary.”
“Necessary! Why?”
She looked him straight in the face. “Because I did not wholly trust you.”
“Not trust me?”
“You had seen me—you guessed what I had done—you could have identified me had you seen me again, and could have turned me over to the police. That would possibly have meant my death; certainly the destruction of all my plans.”