“Thank you, Fanny. I shall be home very soon. Of course, I shall leave the studio at once. Good-bye.”
She hung up the receiver and went upstairs slowly. And as she went she resolved not to say anything about what had happened to Dick Garstin. He was incapable of expressing conventional sympathy, and would probably say something bizarre which would jar on her nerves if she told him.
She found the two men standing together in the studio. Arabian had on his overcoat and gloves, and was holding his hat and umbrella.
“It was only Fanny Cronin!” she said.
As she spoke she looked narrowly at Garstin. Could Fanny have told him the news? The casual expression on his face set her mind at ease on that point. She was certain that he knew nothing.
“I must go,” she said.
“I will walk with you to a taxi if you kindly allow me,” said Arabian, getting her fur coat.
“Thank you!”
As he stood behind her helping her to get into the coat she was conscious of a strange and terrible feeling of fear mingled with an intense desire to give herself up to the power in this man. Was Craven outside? Something in her hoped, almost prayed, that he might be. It was surely the part of her that was afraid.
“Good-bye, Dick!” she said in an offhand voice.