"Morgan, I feel as if those women were looking at us."
"Looking at us? What do you mean?"
"I--I'm sure they can see us; look how they're staring!"
"Staring! Nash! Stop that! One would think you'd been drinking; or perhaps it's a nip of something you want; there ought to be a decanter somewhere about."
"I want nothing; it would make no difference."
"Then let's get to business. I've a theory; you listen, and tell me what you think of it. From what we know of the late Oldfield I rather infer that when he left the flat he left the keys of all these drawers, and cupboards, and things, behind him; that's the kind of thing he would do; and I know that they weren't at Cloverlea; I'm guessing that they're somewhere about the place at this moment. Now what's your idea of the kind of hiding-place he'd choose?"
"I don't know; and I don't care."
"What do you mean by you don't care? You seem to be in a nice mood, my lad."
"I'll not touch a thing here; nothing!"
"Won't you? Then don't! Who asked you? I'll do all the touching that's wanted; only--mind! if you shirk now you'll pay for it when the time for sharing comes."