Drinkwater pursed his lips, studied solemnly the Winged Victory in the dark corner, frowned, and looked point-blank at Dangerfield.
“Mr. Garford, haven’t I said enough to convince you of my familiarity with your affairs? I really must ask you to hear what I have to say without the presence of witnesses.”
To his surprise, it was Inga herself who opposed him.
“I don’t trust him,” she said emphatically. “Don’t see him alone.”
“Quite right,” said Dangerfield. “If you have anything to say to me, say it now.”
This was plainly not to the other’s liking, for he drew back and jerked nervously at his cuff, with an evil glance at the girl who, alert and watchful, kept her deep eyes on his every movement.
“The agreement was,” he said slowly, “that your wife should marry—” He paused and looked at Dangerfield. “Shall I go on?”
“Go on!” said Dangerfield roughly, though he was plainly startled at the extent of the lawyer’s knowledge.
“Should marry a certain party—a certain Mr. Bowden—you see I am informed—within forty-eight hours after the granting of the decree.”
Dangerfield gazed at him in astonishment. Twice he started to speak and twice he stopped; finally he managed to say: