Clearly there was no more to be pulled out of Watkins. And they waited in moody silence, while he touched the table arrangements here and there, and then noiselessly left the room.
Then, “That fellow’s either a cunning rascal or a damned fool,” Crespin muttered. “Which do you think?”
“I don’t believe he’s the fool he’d like us to take him for.” Then as if some endurance had snapped, Traherne flung towards the door.
“I say,” Crespin halted him, “where are you going?”
“I’m going to find her!” Traherne said roughly.
Crespin rose to his feet. “Sit down!” he ordered. “That’s up to me—if I think it either necessary or wise; which I don’t! It’s not up to you!”
“It’s up to a man!” Basil Traherne said hotly, with a level look in Crespin’s eyes.
“Come back!” Antony Crespin commanded. “You—”
A moment more and they would have grappled it out there, grappling each other’s throats.
But the door opened softly, and the woman they loved came into the room.