"Couldn't they have pitched on some other place?"
"I wanted a private room in an hotel—neutral ground," he wrote back. "Raney insisted on this. Moral effect, I suppose."
As I crushed the paper into my pocket, I reflected that O'Rane was taking risks. The sight of the room and of himself might act on his wife like the smell of blood on an animal.
The clock struck again, and I exchanged glances with Bertrand. It was so characteristic of Mrs. O'Rane, even in my short acquaintance with her, that she should be late on such an occasion.
"You did say to-night, didn't you?" O'Rane asked, trying to keep his tone unconcerned.
"I don't suppose they've been able to get a taxi," George answered. "It was raining before dinner."
A moment later we grew tense and expectant once more at the sound of an engine. I heard the slam of a door and Grayle's voice saying, "Will you wait a bit?" Then Bertrand, George and I rose from our chairs, as the flame-coloured curtain was drawn aside and Mrs. O'Rane walked composedly into the room, with Grayle in his staff uniform a pace behind. She narrowed her eyes and then raised her brows almost imperceptibly when she saw who was present.
"I'm sorry if we've kept you all waiting," she said, as she slipped her arms out of her coat and handed it to Grayle.
O'Rane swallowed.
"Won't you sit down?" he murmured.