"My clothes!" she repeated impatiently. "I've got to have them!"
"Where are they, ma'am?" asked the bewildered man.
At the same moment the girl's eyes fell on a pile of men's sporting clothing — garments sent down from Harrod Place to the Lodge — lying on a leather lounge near a gun-rack.
Without a glance at Wier, Eve went to the heap of clothing, tossed it about, selected cords, two pairs of woollen socks, grey shirt, puttees, shoes, flung the garments through the door into her own room followed them, and locked herself in.
* * * * *
When she was dressed — the two heavy of socks helping to fit her feet to the shoes — she emptied her handful of diamonds, sapphires and emeralds, including the Flaming Jewel, into the pockets of her breeches.
Now she was ready. She unlocked her door and went out, scarcely limping at all, now.
Wier gazed at her helplessly as she coolly chose a rifle and cartridge-belt at the gun-rack.
Then she turned on him as still and dangerous as a young puma:
"Tell Darragh he'd better keep clear of Clinch's," she said. "Tell him
I always thought he was a rat. Now I know he's one."