“I don’t know as it wouldn’t be the best way out, as far as she’s concerned, but I’d just as lief you didn’t all turn criminals on my hands! I’ll pull myself up once we are there, but I’m all of a flutter thinking it over in advance.”
“We’ll be there soon now,” Guest told her reassuringly.
They drove in silence down the length of Bond Street, and out into the whirl of Piccadilly. Soon, almost too soon for Cornelia’s jangled nerves, they had drawn up before the great door of the hotel.
Here nothing of a sensational nature had occurred. The porter touched his cap to Cornelia with his usual stolid air, the clerk bowed with unruffled complacence—no hint of trouble had come to their ears. The lift was full of a laughing, chattering crowd. It seemed to Cornelia almost incredible that these women were repairing to their rooms to deck themselves for fresh pleasures, while she was about to bring a prisoner to the bar. She turned towards Guest, as he stood by her side, and felt a fresh sense of comfort in his nearness, his bigness, his air of quiet strength.
On the second floor the lift discharged half its occupants—a merry flock for the most part, hurrying along the corridor, laughing and jesting as they went, while two followed gravely behind, looking to right and left with anxious eyes.
The door of Mrs Moffatt’s bedroom was closed. Was it already deserted—its drawers and wardrobes despoiled of their treasures; a bundle of worthless trifles left behind?—Cornelia’s heart beat in sickening throbs; she knew a coward wish that she might be too late. To pay up and go quietly home seemed an easy way out of the difficulty into which she had walked so blindly!
She drew a quick, frightened breath, and felt Guest’s hand press protectingly on her arm. The sitting-room door opened, and side by side they entered the room.