"It's nothing," she said, passing one hand wearily across her forehead. "Just the heat of the room."
Angus's face remained a picture of concern, and she was satisfied.
"I'll go and open the front door," she said, with studied calmness. "Everybody is in bed. I——"
Angus had turned to the door, and now opened it. In doing so Monica's attempt to leave the room was frustrated, for he raised a warning hand, and she found herself forced to listen as well.
Presently his eyes met hers.
"Guess you don't need to worry with that door," he said. "He's coming along over the upper trail. He'll pass us here."
So Monica had no alternative. She must remain. And this knowledge threw her into a fresh fever of apprehension. She searched for further excuse. But none was forthcoming. Her tumultuous brain refused to serve her, and, in a few moments, there came the ominous metallic clank as the clutch was released, and the breaks drew the millionaire's machine to a standstill at the door.
It was too late. Already her husband's voice could be heard talking to the chauffeur.
"Hand me that suit case and leave the rest in the car," he said. "You best get to bed, and be ready for an early start tomorrow."
There was nothing left for Monica but to go out and meet him.