Yes--tonight." Her
voice grew stronger. "I wouldn't trouble you but--it's awfully
important. Hold the wire a moment." She put down the phone and
made another swift survey of the room, listened furtively at the
door--all clear! She returned to the phone.
"Hello--Mr. Fleming--I'll wait outside the house on the drive.
It--it's a confidential matter. Thank you so much."
She hung up the phone, relieved--not an instant too soon, for, as
she crossed toward the fireplace to add a new log to the dying glow
of the fire, the hall door opened and Anderson, the detective, came
softly in with an unlighted candle in his hand.
Her composure almost deserted her. How much had he heard? What
deduction would he draw if he had heard? An assignation, perhaps!
Well, she could stand that; she could stand anything to secure the
next few hours of liberty for Jack. For that length of time she
and the law were at war; she and this man were at war.
But his first words relieved her fears.
"Spooky sort of place in the dark, isn't it?" he said casually.
"Yes--rather." If he would only go away before Brooks came back
or Richard Fleming arrived! But he seemed in a distressingly
chatty frame of mind.
"Left me upstairs without a match," continued Anderson. "I found
my way down by walking part of the way and falling the rest. Don't
suppose I'll ever find the room I left my toothbrush in!" He
laughed, lighting the candle in his hand from the candle on the
table.
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