“What do you mean?” I parried.
“I mean a lot of things. What we’ve just been talking about. And what was the excitement you were in just before breakfast this morning?”
“Excitement?”
“Gregg, you may trust me.” For the first time she was wholly serious. Her gaze made sure no one was within hearing. She put her hand on my arm. I could barely hear her whisper: “I know they might have a ray upon us––I’ll be careful.”
“They?”
“Anyone. Something’s going on. You know it––you are in it. I saw you this morning, Gregg. Wild-eyed, chasing a phantom––”
“You?”
“And I heard the phantom! A man’s footsteps. A magnetic reflecting invisible cloak. You couldn’t fool an audience with that––it’s too commonplace. If Rance Rankin tried––”
I gripped her. “Don’t ramble, Venza! You saw me?”
“Yes. My stateroom door was open. I was sitting with a cigarillo. I saw the purser in the smoking room. He was visible from––”