“A nice damn thing,” said Mr. Cornelius, angrily. “What a stupid damn thing—eh? Yes, perhaps some one had better go. One never knows—at such times. He is—so—so wild!”
“If any one goes, it’s up to you, Baron,” said O’Leary solemnly. “You’ve got more of the inside dope than we. It wouldn’t be quite so raw—” He pulled out his watch again, though he had consulted it only a few moments before, and said nervously: “Yes; darned if I don’t think you’d better see what’s going on.”
At this moment the door of the corner studio opened, and they heard Dangerfield say:
“Too late—I’ve said it—you’ve got just four days more.” Then something unintelligible in the woman’s voice, evidently a supplication, for he replied with a scornful laugh:
“With all your cleverness—you’re not clever enough. You should have known the man you were dealing with.”
The nerves of the listeners were at such a tension that they were quite unconscious of their exposed position in the hall. Dangerfield perceived them first, for he drew up, folded his arms and said:
“Don’t waste time—good-by.”
Whether or not she became aware of her listeners, she seemed to accept the inevitable, for, after a moment she said quietly:
“You will, at least, I suppose, see me to my car?”
He hesitated, and was about to comply, though it was evident that it went against the grain to do so, when the door of the little studio opened abruptly and Inga came out.