from the wound. She knew that he had a constitution strong enough to stand the strain, and the anxiety she had felt concerning his well-being disappeared.
She smiled very softly as she looked at him.
His face was dark against the pillow, and his features seemed more clearly marked than usual. There was something in him which seemed almost part of her.
She smiled a little bitterly at the thought, and her eyes clouded, but they cleared a moment later as Mannering stirred suddenly and opened his eyes. He blinked up, and there was something absurdly funny about his expression as he saw her. She laughed unrestrainedly at his bewilderment.
Memory of the previous night’s affair jumped back into Mannering’s mind. He moved up, then flinched as pain streaked through his shoulder.
“Steady,” said Lorna quickly.
He grinned ruefully, and stretched his left hand towards his waistcoat, where he could find cigarettes.
“It’s a rotten bad habit, smoking first-thing in the morning,” said Lorna.
“There are lots of bad habits,” said Mannering, taking a cigarette and lighting it, one-handed. He looked uncertain of himself. “So you
Lorna laughed.
“I’m afraid so,” she said. “If you knew what you looked like, my dear, you’d have a shock. But sit there for a while until I make tea.”
When she re-entered the room five minutes later Mannering had pulled a comb through his hair, and was comparatively wide-awake. His uncertainty had disappeared, and he looked completely in control of himself.
He drank the tea gratefully, before saying much. Then: “I suppose,” he said, looking at her quizzically, that I ought to start some explanation ?”
Lorna shook her head. Her lips tightened, and she smiled with her eyes.
“No,” she said. “You asked no questions the other day. I’m asking none now. I just want to say, John . . .”
She paused. Mannering’s eyes were very soft.
“Be careful, my dear,” she added, and her voice trembled.
Mannering managed to laugh a little.
“I’ll try,” he said.
“And now” — she was serious again, and practical; the moments of sentiment passed quickly with her, he knew — “I’ll have another look at your shoulder, and we’ll get some breakfast. That’s if you can eat . . .”
“It’s time you went,” said Mannering. “It would look nasty, Lorna, if anything — anyone . . .”
“It’s too early,” said Lorna decisively. “They’ll think I’m at Chelsea, I tell you.”
“Supposing they ring you, and get no answer?”
“That won’t be any change.” She was tugging at the left arm of his pyjama-jacket. “They’re used to getting no answer when I’m at the studio. Am I going to look at your shoulder, or are you going to be awkward ?”
Mannering gave in, knowing that he would have to eventually.
Lorna pronounced the wound satisfactory. There was no bleeding now, and no sign of complications. She dressed it with liberal boracic and lint, bandaged it effectively, and told him to move carefully.
“Gingerly’s the word,” Mannering chuckled, yet more pleased with her concern than he would have admitted. Then a thought flashed through his mind, and his eyes were suddenly hard.
“What happened to the bullet?” he asked.
“In the bathroom still,” said Lorna.
“We’d better get rid of it,” said Mannering. “And — have you seen the morning papers yet?”
Lorna shook her head slowly.
There were some outside,” she said. “Were they yours?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “I’ll get ‘em in a moment.”
Lorna smiled obscurely and went out. Mannering began to dress, slowly and awkwardly. Without worrying about a collar or tie, he went into the living-room, sniffed at the odour of grilled bacon, smiled at Lorna for a moment, and then went to the door, with his object half forgotten and his mind filled with the memory of her flushed face.
The papers were folded, just outside, and he took them in and opened them quickly, half-expecting what he saw.
The first words seemed to leap out of the print towards him:
ARMED BURGLAR AT MILLIONAIRE’S HOUSE
MR. CARLOS RAMON ROBBED
THE BARON AGAIN?
The newsprint, written sensationally, was no more than a re-hash of the affair at Queen’s Walk. There were points on which he could have enlightened the journalist who had starred the story, but the one thing for which he was looking was granted him.
