“Yes, indeed; and the bigger fool I,” said O’Leary, who comprehended that the man was in no condition to hear what he had seen.
“But some one was there—in the car—waiting?” said Dangerfield, insisting. “A square-set man, about my height, cropped mustache—you saw him—you——”
Inga had advanced to his side; now she laid her hand on his arm and said with a smile:
“Why, Mr. Dangerfield, didn’t you hear what he said? There was no one there?”
“No one?” said Dangerfield, frowning and looking back at O’Leary with a perplexed stare.
“No one at all, and no one waiting,” said O’Leary glibly.
“Then why didn’t you want me to go down?” he said abruptly, turning on her.
“You would only have gone on arguing,” she said.
His back was turned a moment, as he ran his hand over his head and walked away. Inga’s eyes went quickly to King O’Leary. He nodded and held up three fingers.
Dangerfield had sat down at the spacious Florentine table and taken up two packs of cards. Inga glanced at him, and going over to the sideboard, lit two candles and placed them on either side of him. He looked up, smiled, and patted her hand, quite unconscious of O’Leary’s presence. Then he seemed to forget them both in the absorption of the solitaire, laying out the cards with minute pains, as though this assembled order rested his fluttering mind. She made a sign to King O’Leary and went to the door. Instantly Dangerfield looked up.