“I shan’t stay!” she declared angrily.
“Oh, I think you will,” he replied gently.
“I’ll get away and inform on you if I have to swim.”
“It’s a long, wet swim,” he mused aloud—“over a mile, I should say. Have you ever swum over a hundred yards in your life?”
She was silent, choking with rage.
“And furthermore,” he went on, “there are the Clovers. Excellent people, excellent—for my purposes. I have found them quite invaluable—asking no questions, minding their own business, keen to obey my instructions to the letter. I have already instructed them about you, my child. I trust you will be careful not to provoke them; it’d be a pity ... you’re rather good-looking, you know ...”
“What do you mean by that?” she stammered, a little frightened by the secret menace in his tone. “What have my looks to do with ...?”
“Everything,” he said softly—“everything. Not so far as Ephraim is concerned; I’ll be frank with you—you needn’t fear Ephraim’s hurting you, much, should you attempt to escape. He will simply restrain you, using force only if necessary. But Mrs. Clover ... she’s different. You mustn’t let her deceive you; she seems kindly disposed enough; she’s pleasant spoken but ... well, she’s not fond of pretty women. It’s an obsession of hers that prettiness and badness go together. And Ephraim is fond of pretty women—very. You see?”
“Well, that’s why I have these people in so strong a hold. You see, Ephraim got himself into trouble trying to pull off one of those bungling, amateurish burglaries that his kind go in for so extensively; he wanted the money to buy things for a pretty woman. And he was already a married man. You can see how Mrs. Clover felt about it. She—ah—cut up rather nasty. When she got through with the other woman, no one would have called her pretty any longer. Vitriol’s a dreadful thing....”