Jane stopped, every muscle tense. The moment had arrived. She faced the door, tight-lipped. It comforted her a little in this crisis to reflect that Rodney was not one of those massive Ethel M. Dell libertines who might make things unpleasant for an intruder. He was only a welter-weight egg of evil; and, if he tried to start anything, a girl of her physique would have little or no difficulty in knocking the stuffing out of him.
The footsteps reached the door. The handle turned. The door opened. And in strode William Bates, followed by two men in bowler hats.
“Ha!” said William.
Jane’s lips parted, but no sound came from them. She staggered back a pace or two. William, advancing into the centre of the room, folded his arms and gazed at her with burning eyes.
“So,” said William, and the words seemed forced like drops of vitriol from between his clenched teeth, “I find you here, dash it!”
Jane choked convulsively. Years ago, when an innocent child, she had seen a conjurer produce a rabbit out of a top-hat which an instant before had been conclusively proved to be empty. The sudden apparition of William affected her with much the same sensations as she had experienced then.
“How-ow-ow—?” she said.
“I beg your pardon?” said William, coldly.
“How-ow-ow—?”
“Explain yourself,” said William.