Shut into it, Towne told Edith:
“He’s backed out of it. He left—this.” He had a note in his hand. “It was written to Bob Sterling. Bob was with him at breakfast time, and when he came back, this was on Del’s dresser.”
She read it, her blue eyes hot:
“I can’t go through with it, Bob. I know it’s a rotten trick, but time will prove that I am right. And Edith will thank me.
“Del.”
She crushed it in her hand. “Where has he gone?”
“South, probably, on his yacht.”
“Wasn’t there any word for me?”
“Is there any other—woman?”
“It looks like it. Bob is utterly at sea. So is everybody else.”