“Quite,” said Corole, whose accents were unmistakable.
“Then to-day is as good as any.”
“I—suppose so.” Corole seemed reluctant.
“Are you backing down?” I had not believed that Fred Hajek’s voice could be so ugly.
“No,” said Corole. “No.”
“Then why not to-day?” The door closed sharply on the last syllable as if propelled by a vigorous motion on the part of the speaker.
In some perplexity I waited. I could still hear the sounds of voices, but the words were unintelligible. All at once, however, the man’s voice rose as if in anger, and without pausing to consider my action I simply grasped that brass knob and flung the door open.
I interrupted a strange tableau.
Corole was leaning backward against the table, her lips drawn back in a snarl and her eyes gleaming green fire. Dr. Hajek was no less moved; his face was dark red, his fists clinched, his dark eyes glittering unpleasantly between slitted lids. He was speaking when I opened the door and I caught his last words. They were thick with fury.
“. . . and now you refuse. After all I have done—for you!”