E. Women are hypocrites to the last—true only to themselves. He led her unerringly, pushing her down the narrow stairway that had been the servants’ access to the upper floors, and thence through a small door that led into the chapel. But I will not believe you. ’ ‘Well, don’t bite my head off,’ protested Mrs Sindlesham, clearly amused. What was the objection? She found it impossible to look her own diffidence in the face. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. ‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously. You will leave me utterly distraught. “What makes you ask such a question, Vee?” she said. Sorry. What hotel should she go to? If she told a cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he do—or say? He might drive to something dreadfully expensive, and not at all the quiet sort of thing she required. In a side-glance—for the floor was variously encumbered with overturned objects—he saw one of his paper weights, a coloured glass ball such as McClintock used in trade. ’ ‘Then leave me to guard myself, and do not ask me questions any more,’ she snapped, and crouched down suddenly, searching about for her dagger. Before he even glanced at the man on the floor he stepped over to her side and took the poker from her.
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