“I’m going,” said Billie resolutely. It occurred to her, as it has occurred to so many women before her, how helpless men are in a crisis. The temporary withdrawal of Jane Hubbard had had the effect which the removal of the rudder has on a boat. “It’s the only thing to do. I shall be back in no time.”
She stepped firmly to the coat-rack, and began to put on her motoring-cloak. And just then Jane Hubbard came downstairs, shepherding before her a pale and glassy-eyed Bream.
“Right under the bed,” she announced cheerfully, “making a noise like a piece of fluff in order to deceive burglars.”
Billie cast a scornful look at her fiancé. Absolutely unjustified, in my opinion, but nevertheless she cast it. But it had no effect at all. Terror had stunned Bream Mortimer’s perceptions. His was what the doctors call a penumbral mental condition.
“Bream,” said Billie, “I want you to come in the car with me to fetch the police.”
“All right,” said Bream.
“Get your coat.”
“All right,” said Bream.
“And cap.”
“All right,” said Bream.