“Is Dr. Steel in, Symons?”
It was his wife’s voice, and Parker Steel slipped into his coat and unlocked the door.
“Tea nearly ready, dear?”
“Parker, are you there?”
“Yes.”
“Any one with you?”
“No. I will be with you in a minute.”
He groped for a box of matches on the mantel-shelf and lit the gas. Turning, he was startled by the reflection of his own white face staring at him mistrustfully from the mirror over the fire. It was as though Parker Steel shirked the glance of his own eyes. He had a sense of unflattering discomfort and deceit as he walked to a glass-fronted cabinet fitted with drawers that stood in one corner of the room.
They were in the middle of tea when Betty Steel glanced at her husband’s hand.
“Have you hurt yourself, Parker?”