"Yes. He mustn't see it."
"No."
She opened the door and closed it behind her. Merriam sat on the edge of the bed, thinking hard.
"He wants a drink of water," he heard her say to the others in the dining room.
With one ear, so to speak--that is to say, with so much of his mind as could attend to one ear,--he listened to Crockett and Jennie, engaged still in the business of mixing drinks. With the rest of his mind he was making plans, with a rapidity and confident daring that astonished himself.
In a moment Margery had returned. In her right hand she carried a glass of water. Her left hand, hanging at her side, seemed to hold carelessly only a newspaper, folded in two. But as soon as she had closed the door she produced from between the folds a fairly stout clothesline, loosely coiled.
Merriam tried its toughness and surveyed its length.
"All right," he whispered. "Now go back. Drink with them. Jennie must dance. And have Crockett sit where he was before."
This was at the end of the table nearest the telephone and nearest also to Merriam's door.
Again Margery looked at him. She glanced at the rope. But she asked no questions. Without a word she went out and closed the door behind her. Admirable girl!