'Cox, you're a scoundrel! Any use our saying pretty things to each other, you renegade Jew?'
Mr Cox was wiping his forehead with his pocket-handkerchief, as if he felt the heat.
'I will not be spoken to like that, as if I were--as if I were a man of your own type. Where--where have those women gone?'
'The room on the other side that door is the dining-room; beyond is Casata's room. That's where they've gone.'
'Then--then they've found her?'
'Oh, yes, they've found her; not a doubt of it. They've found a good many other things as well.'
His tone evidently struck Mr Cox as being disagreeably significant.
'For goodness' sake, Burton, let's go. You are so rash, don't let's make bad worse. Let's go while we have a chance, and before anything very serious has happened.'
'Something serious has happened.'
'What do you mean?'