“Sahiba—absolutely!”
“Then let me pass!”
Reluctantly he stood aside. She slipped out and let the bar down unobserved. But she had not recovered all her self-possession when she reached the courtyard.
“Evening, Miss McClean,” said Cunningham; and she all but fainted, she was strained to such a pitch of nervousness.
“Where have you come from, Miss McClean?” asked Cunningham. And she told him. She was not quite so stiff-chinned as she had been.
“What were you doing there?”
She told him that, too.
“Where is your father?”
“In his chair on the veranda, Mr. Cunningham. There, in that deep shadow.”
“Come to him, please. I want your explanation in his presence.”