Eleanor draws her skirts away from contact with his coarse hair.
She sees it all at last.
"Killed," she repeats, "and by your dog."
Her breath comes quicker, she turns and peers through the window, as if expecting something.
"There is still more," declares Philip. "That cat's-eye ring I gave you, Eleanor—where is it?"
His voice pulses with suppressed force.
"Carol was attacked in the jungle one night——"
"By a masked fiend, who tore him from his horse and shook him by the throat, like a cat with a mouse, then flung him aside as a scorpion too poisonous to touch—a foul thing, only fit to lie beneath a rock, hidden from the sight of man. When he rose up, his assailant had gone, like a silent ghost on that lonely road."
Philip holds his lean fingers before her eyes, and flashing on one of them gleams the greenish light of the cat's-eye gem.
Again Eleanor looks fearfully out into the night, she fancies she hears Carol on the steps below.