“H’m. Yes,” Anthony said. “And now for Miss Hoode. Where can I find her?”
“I think she’s downstairs somewhere, but I’m not sure. I say, Gethryn, you’re not going to—to cross-examine her, are you? I mean I don’t think she’ll want a lot of talk about——”
“No,” Anthony said, crossing the room, “probably she won’t.”
Sir Arthur opened his mouth to speak; but was left staring at the closed door.
As he shut it behind him, Anthony caught sight of a black-clad figure disappearing round the corner by the stairhead. It was a back he had seen before. It wore an air of stealthy discomfort; and the speed with which it had vanished was in itself suspicious.
Anthony laughed. “Belford, my friend,” he thought, “if you have done anything naughty, you’re simply asking to be found out.” He went on and down the stairs.
2
This evening, thought Anthony, as he stood facing her by the open windows of the drawing-room, Laura Hoode was even less prepossessing than she had seemed on the day before. She had risen at his entry, and though the thin, sharp-featured face was calm, he somehow felt her perturbation.
She waved him to a chair. He sank into it, draping one long leg over its fellow.
“What do you want of me, Mr. Gethryn?” The voice was lifeless as the woman, and Anthony shivered. The sexless always alarmed him.