Barbara was silent, dumb with horror and bewilderment, rather than with fear. A light shone through the open door at the end of the tap-room and the woman in black velvet appeared, carrying a lamp in her hand. She was breathing rather hard and her carefully arranged gray hair was a little untidy; but she was quite calm and self-possessed.
“We haven’t a moment to lose!” she said, putting the lamp down on the table and blowing it out.
“Bellward, give me my cloak!”
Bellward advanced with a fur cloak and wrapped it about her shoulders.
“You are the perfect artiste, Minna,” he said.
“Practise makes perfect!” replied Mrs. Malplaquet archly.
Strangwise had flung open the door leading to the front yard. A big limousine stood outside.
“Come on,” he said impatiently, “don’t stand there gossiping you two!”
Then Barbara revolted.
“I’ll not go!” she exclaimed, “you can do what you like but I’ll stay where I am! Murderers...”