"Go to bed," he ordered. "I've something to say to this fellow—right now."
She moved quickly before the moonlit square of the window and threw her arms about the big man. Cockney made no resistance.
"Don't, Jim, please. Come to bed. Can't you see that I——"
The Professor's lips were close to Stamford's ear.
"For God's sake get him away; he'll murder us."
Stamford stepped to the window.
"Cockney," he said, "whatever you think of me is no reason for forgetting yourself. I'll be here in the morning."
The big rancher turned his head to look down on the small figure of his pleading wife, took her arm without a word, and started away. Stamford stood listening as they crossed the sitting-room and closed their bedroom door behind them.
"Now," he demanded, turning on the Professor, "perhaps you'll explain at least one of the night's mysteries. A little light might help."
He was fumbling about the dresser for the matches.