“How could she, through that veil?” I asked. “It was impossible.”
“Is my veil really thick enough to conceal my face entirely?” she asked eagerly.
“Not absolutely to conceal it, but to render identification extremely difficult at such a distance,” I replied. “But—tell me, why are you trembling like this, Roseye?”
“Oh, drive on,” she cried. “Drive quickly. Do! She saw you—she will know you from those photographs in the newspapers. I saw by her look that she recognised you. Don’t glance round. Keep on, keep on! Go as fast as ever you can. Save me from her—oh! do save me, Claude!” she implored.
I saw, with much apprehension, that her unaccountable mental agitation was returning.
“But who is the woman?” I demanded eagerly. “She’s a perfect stranger to me.”
“Ah! but not to me, Claude! That woman!” she gasped, as her gloved hands lying upon her knees clutched convulsively. “That woman is—she’s the Woman with the Leopard’s Eyes!”
“That woman!” I ejaculated, amazed. “Was that really the woman?”
“Yes. But—why is she about here? She means mischief, Claude. She means to do us both harm!”
“And the man?” I asked, bending to her without glancing into her face, for I was driving at increased pace in obedience to her command. “Who is he?”