Had he locked the front door when he came in? Very much depended upon whether he had or had not. The servants had all gone to bed. Not one of them would see that the house was closed for the night. Fritz was a very casual person. He often forgot to do things he had promised to do, things that ought to be done. On the other hand, there were moments when his memory was excellent. If she only knew which mood had been his to-night she thought she would feel calmer. The uncertainty in which she was made mind and body tingle. If Fritz had remembered to lock the door, Leo Ulford would try to get in, fail, and go away. But if he had not remembered, at any moment Leo Ulford might walk into the room triumphantly with the latch-key in his hand. And it was nearly half-past twelve.
She wished intensely that she knew what Fritz had done.
“What’s up?” he said abruptly.
“Up?” she said with an uncontrollable start.
“Yes, with you?”
“Nothing. What d’you mean?”
“Why, you looked as if—don’t you b’lieve I’ve been playin’ bridge?”
“Of course I do. Really, Fritz, how absurd you are!”
It was evident that he, too, was not quite easy to-night. If he had a conscience, surely it was pricking him. Fierce anger flamed up again suddenly in Lady Holme, and the longing to lash her husband. Yet even this anger did not take away the anxiety that beset her, the wish that she had not done the crazy thing. The fact of her husband’s return before Leo’s arrival seemed to have altered her action, made it far more damning. To have been found with Leo would have been compromising, would have roused Fritz’s anger. She wanted to rouse his anger. She had meant to rouse it. But when she looked at Fritz she did not like the thought of Leo walking in at this hour holding the latch-key in his hand. What had Fritz done that night to Rupert Carey? What would he do to-night if—?
“What the deuce is up with you?”