They could hear him moving about the room.
"Hiding, are you? Brute! Come out, or I'll--by heavens, I'll shoot you
if you don't tell me the truth. I heard her voice in the lane. I'll
swear to it."
Duncombe glanced quickly towards his companion. She lay back in the
chair in a dead faint.
CHAPTER XXI
A WOMAN'S CRY
The three men were sitting at a small round dining-table, from which
everything except the dessert had been removed. Duncombe filled his own
glass and passed around a decanter of port. Pelham and Spencer both
helped themselves almost mechanically. A cloud of restraint had hung
over the little party. Duncombe raised his glass and half emptied its
contents. Then he set it down and leaned back in his chair.
"Well," he said, "I am ready for the inquisition. Go on, Andrew."
Pelham fingered his own glass nervously. He seemed to find his task no
easy one.
"George," he said, "we are old friends. I want you to remember it. I
want you also to remember that I am in a hideous state of worry and
nerves"--he passed his hand over his forehead just above his eyes as
though they were hurting him. "I am not behaving to you as a guest
should to his host.
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