There was a beseeching, child-like quality in his tone. He worked with difficulty now. His hands were no longer perfect mechanical tools. They wavered about the knob. His lips twitched. Perspiration thickened on his face. Garth saw drops glitter and fall slowly to the stained carpet.
Garth caught himself paradoxically wishing George to hurry. For a moment he was relieved when a new sound came from the combination, and George with a sigh turned the handle.
"Ready to open," he said.
He swung on Nora.
"Talk about Slim! Crying, Nora? Good Lord—"
"Don't, George," she said. "If I half close my eyes I can see him through my tears, lying here in the shadows. Can't you?"
He clasped his arms about her. He hid his eyes in her hair.
"Hush," he said hoarsely. "And, while Simmons does his work, give me that kiss."
Garth's fingers reached out, then he thought of the frayed piece of paper possibly in the inspector's hands and already urging the night to a successful climax. This anguish, too, he must suffer. So he drew back profoundly shaken.
Nora, however, was protecting her lips.