In one sharp movement Lanyard and Sofia disengaged and fell apart, their eyes consulting, hers in dismay, his in mixed exasperation and remorse.
“I ought to be shot,” he declared, bitterly—“who knew better!—to have delayed here, exposing you to this danger—!”
“It couldn’t be helped,” Sofia insisted; “you had to make me understand. Besides, if I hurry back—”
In quick strides Lanyard crossed to the corridor door, unlatched and opened it an inch, peered out, and gave the sum of what he saw in a gesture of finality, then leaving the door ajar turned swiftly back to the girl.
“Too late,” he said: “they’re swarming out into the hall like bees. In another minute ...”
Of a sudden he closed with Sofia, roughly clasping her body to him.
“Struggle with me!” he pleaded—“get me by the throat, throw me back across the desk—”
“What do you mean? Let me go!”
In answer to her efforts to wrench away, Lanyard only tightened his hold and swung her toward the desk.
“Do as I bid you! It’s the only way out. Let them think you heard a noise, got up to investigate, found me here, rifling the safe—”