Neither at once saw Anthony. Then, with a gracious smile to officialdom, Lucia turned and looked full at him. He raised his hat and looked grim. He didn’t mean to look grim; he was merely trying to behave well in a police-station to a lady he loved and had offended. Lucia flushed and bowed coldly and walked down the steps. She hadn’t meant to do any of these things; but the man did look so forbidding. “Conceited idiot!” she said to herself, referring to Anthony and not meaning it in the least.
“Hell!” said Anthony under his breath, and went rather white.
Dora Masterson held out her hand. “Good-morning,” she said, and looked curiously at him.
From somewhere he dragged out a smile.
“Morning. Feeling better?”
She beamed at him. “Oh, ever so much! Archie seems so—so exactly as if everything was the same as usual. He’s wonderful! And I haven’t forgotten what you said about miracles. You will do one, won’t you?” With another smile she ran down the steps and after her sister. She had scented an intriguing mystery in the behaviour of these two.
Anthony emerged from thought to find the inspector looking at him with barely veiled curiosity. He essayed a cheerful manner. Perhaps the inspector would be so good as to let him see Mr. Deacon. If the inspector remembered, Superintendent Boyd——
In less than two minutes he was alone with the prisoner.
Deacon put down the book he was reading.
“Hallo-allo! More visitors for the condemned man. Good job you’re early. I believe they’re moving me to the county clink about eleven.”