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He hesitated. ’ He closed the panel and came slowly out of the little dressing-room, Roding at his heels. I arranged that he should. The overnight nervous strain began to tell; she became inattentive to the work before her, and it did not get on. She had called the police on them anonymously. He returned to the car, Cokes in hand. Why hadn't he gone on with the girl's story? What instinct had stuffed it back into his throat? Why the inexplicable impulse to hurry this rather pathetic derelict on his way? CHAPTER XV Previous to his illness, Spurlock's mind had been tortured by an appalling worry, so that now, in the process of convalescence, it might be compared to a pool which had been violently stirred: there were indications of subsidence, but there were still strange forms swirling on the surface—whims and fancies which in normal times would never have risen above sub-consciousness. What had actually beaten him was not to have known if someone had picked up his trail. "Leave me to my fate," rejoined Jack.
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