There was a genuine ring of dislike in her voice as she mentioned their names which made me believe that she was speaking the truth.
"Well," I said frankly, "I was thinking of looking up George just to see how he has been getting on in my absence. But apart from that I have every intention of playing straight with McMurtrie. It seems to me to be my only chance."
A bell tinkled faintly somewhere away in the house, and Sonia got up off the bed.
"It is your only chance," she said quietly, "but it may be a better one than you imagine."
And with this encouraging if somewhat obscure remark she went out and left me to my thoughts.
McMurtrie came up about an hour later. Suave and courteous as ever, he knocked at my door before entering the room, and wished me good morning in the friendliest of fashions.
"I have brought you another Daily Mail—yesterday's," he said, throwing the paper down on the bed. "It contains the second instalment of your adventures." Then he paused and looked at me with that curious smile that seemed to begin and end with his lips. "Well," he added, "and how are the stiffness and the sore throat this morning?"
"Gone," I said, "both of them. I have no excuse for stopping in bed except lack of clothes."
He nodded and sat down on the window-sill. "I daresay we can find a way out of that difficulty. My friend Savaroff would, I am sure, be delighted to lend you some garments to go on with. You seem to be much of a size."
"Well, I should be delighted to accept them," I said. "Even the joy of being in a real bed again begins to wear off after two days."