“Parker!”
He made a step forward.
“No, I want you to go into that room and light the gas.”
The insistent note in her voice repulsed him. His walk approached a self-conscious shuffle as he turned and re-entered the darkening room. Betty heard him groping for the matches. A sudden glare of light followed the sharp purr of a flaring match. She drew a deep and sighing breath, pressed her hands to her breast, and entered the room.
Parker Steel was drawing the blinds. His wife closed the door, and waited for him to turn.
“When I had your wire, dear—”
“Yes.”
“I wondered what I should find—here. The wording—Good Heavens, Betty—”
She stood back from him and leaned against the sideboard, the glare from the gas falling full upon her face. It was red, repulsive, tinged with an ooze that had hardened here and there into yellow scabs.
“You see, Parker, why I sent for you.”