George Abbershaw coughed.
‘In a way, yes,’ he said, and was silent. Now, he felt, was not the moment to announce his engagement to Meggie.
They had reached the door of the bedroom by this time, and further inquiries on Prenderby’s part were cut short by a sudden and arresting phenomenon.
From inside the room came a series of extraordinary sounds – long, high-pitched murmurs, intermingled with howls and curses, and accompanied now and then by a sound of scuffling.
‘My God!’ said Prenderby. ‘What in the name of good fortune is that?’
Abbershaw did not answer him.
Clearly the move which he had been expecting had been made.
With all his new temerity he seized the door-latch and was about to fling it up, when Prenderby caught his arm.
‘Go carefully! Go carefully!’ he said, with a touch of indignation in his voice. ‘You don’t want to shove your head in it, whatever it is. They’re armed, remember.’
The other nodded, and raising the latch very cautiously he thrust the door gently open.