“Now look here, darling,” he went on: “aren’t you getting just a little too nervous about me? I quite admit that in these days of wars, of terrible massacres, of barbarism and of outrages of which even African savages would not be guilty, one is apt to become unduly nervous. You’ve been reading the papers, perhaps. They don’t always tell us the truth nowadays, with the Censor trying to hide up everything.”
“No, Jack,” she said boldly. “I haven’t been reading the papers. I’m only anxious to save you.”
“But how do you know that I’m in any danger?” he asked quickly. “Why be anxious at all? I assure you that I’m perfectly safe. Nobody will lift a finger against me. Why should they?”
“Ah! you don’t see,” she cried. “There is a motive—a hidden motive of revenge. Your enemies intend to do you harm—grievous bodily harm. I know that.”
“How?” he asked quickly, fixing her splendid eyes with his.
That straight, bold question caused her to hesitate. She had intended to prevaricate, that he knew. She did not wish to reveal the truth to him, yet she feared lest he might be annoyed. Nevertheless, so serious was he, so calm and utterly defiant in face of her grave warning, that a second later she found herself wavering.
“Well,” she replied, “I—I feel absolutely certain that it is intended that some harm shall come to you.”
“Then I’d better go to Scotland Yard and say that I’m threatened—eh?” he laughed merrily. “And they will put on somebody to watch me, well knowing that, if the whole of Scotland Yard—from the Assistant Commissioner downwards—were put on to shadow me, the result would be just the same. I should surely be killed, if my enemies had seriously plotted my death.”
“That’s just my very argument,” she said sagely, her pretty head slightly inclined as she spoke. “I feel convinced that some evil is intended.”
“But why, darling?” he asked in surprise. “What causes you all these silly notions?”