“Why not?” he demanded, bewildered at her fitful mood.
“I don’t know,” she said helplessly. “But let’s stay here. I’m nervous, I think.”
“Nonsense,” he said cheerily, trying to brace her up. “The moon is a great soother of nerves, and a friendly old chap, too. What is it?” he asked curiously. “You’re miles away from here, but I don’t think you’re in Paris, either. It’s your turn to tell me something. Where are you?”
He could not guess that her thoughts were in her home, where her poor, gentle, semi-invalid mother was probably now worrying over the sudden mood of depression which had fallen upon her younger girl. And it would be impossible for him to understand the threat of prison and disgrace which was even now hanging over Amy Cartwright’s head.
“I was thinking of my sister,” she told him slowly. “Come, let’s go.”
Before he could unfasten the French windows there was a sound of running feet outside, and Monty’s nervous face was seen looking in. Nora, breathless, was hanging on to his arm.
Quickly Denby opened the doors and let the two in, and then shut the doors again. “What is it?” he demanded quickly.
“Don’t go out there, Steve,” Monty cried, when he could get breath enough to speak.
“Why, what is it?” Ethel Cartwright asked nervously.
“Nora and I went for a walk in the garden, and suddenly two men jumped out on us from behind the pagoda. They had almost grabbed us when one man shouted to the other fellow, ‘We’re wrong,’ and Nora screamed and ran like the very devil, and I had to run after her of course.”