Nevertheless, he must have entered Stanley Heath's room, for soon she detected the invalid's voice, imperative and eager, each sentence ending with an interrogation. The lapses of silence which intervened and which at first she took to be pauses, she presently decided represented the inaudible and subdued replies of Currier.
To judge from the sounds, Heath was pouring out an avalanche of questions.
Sometimes he choked as if words came faster than he could utter them; and once he broke into peals of hearty laughter, followed by a paroxysm of coughing.
Still, Currier failed to return for the waiting tray.
"He has forgotten all about it," murmured Marcia. "The coffee will be stone cold and the toast ruined. I'll carry them up myself."
She mounted the stairs softly that her coming might break in as little as possible upon the conversation of her two guests.
"She was alone in the library when I went in," Heath was saying, "and turned so white I feared she might faint or scream. Luckily she did neither. Steadying herself against the table, she faced me.
"'You know what I'm after,' I said—'the jewels.'
"She hedged a moment.