forward, her arms about him, pressing her body against him, kissing him with a passion which was almost terrible to see.
The look in his eyes changed, too. He thrust her away from him, and held her at arm’s length; in her passion, her beauty was the beauty of fire.
“You’re mine, do you understand?” he said, chokingly. “I’ll kill any other man who touches you.”
Eve was lying back, with her head resting on a cushion. Her hair was loose about her shoulders, her slim legs were drawn up under her. Raeburn was sitting at the other end of the sofa, quite rational now.
“When I recognised this stranger on the road as the man who was with West, at the Silver Kettle, I could have run him over,” he said, and neither of them seemed to think Of Halliwell.”
“Warrender had told me that a friend of West’s was staying here, and had promised to deal with him.”
“How can he deal with anyone?” asked Eve, lazily.
Raeburn laughed.
“What’s funny about that?” She pouted.
“You’re much funnier than you realise, sometimes,” said Raeburn, “but it’s a good thing you’re not clever.”
Eve made a face, but something Tony Brown had said sprang to her mind. She wasn’t ‘clever’. Tony had said that, in the long run, Raeburn would spurn her for a clever woman. Perhaps she was more clever than men knew.
Raeburn went on: “Warrender had laid everything on all right; we interrupted the party he’d arranged. I hope Lessing sees the funny side of that, too.”
Eve swung her legs down, and got up.
“Somehow, I think he will,” she said. “Sweetie, I think I ought to go and dress for dinner.”
When she had gone, Raeburn poured himself out a whisky-and-soda, and drank it while standing before the fireplace and looking moodily at the flames. Eve already knew a great deal which could be very dangerous. She had probably guessed the truth about the road incident, and there had been no point in refusing to talk about it, but he would have to be very careful with her. Warrender had been right about that.
He finished his drink, helped himself to another, and had nearly finished it when there was a tap at the door.
“Come in,” he called.
Warrender entered.
CHAPTER XVI
RAEBURN DID not try to hide his surprise. Warrender gave a thin-lipped smile, and walked to the cabinet. He poured himself a drink, before taking off his coat and flinging it over a chair. He dropped his hat, scarf, and gloves into the chair, each movement deliberate and calculated.
“Well, Paul,” he said, at last. “Here’s luck!”
“Do we need luck?” Raeburn asked.
“I’m beginning to think so,” said Warrender.
“So you’re still a prophet of gloom. Why didn’t you leave me alone for a week, George?”
“Things have altered somewhat,” Warrender said, flatly. “You thought so when you telephoned, didn’t you?
There are a lot of things one can’t say over the telephone. I thought you might like a cosy little talk.”
Raeburn said: “Provided it doesn’t take too long. I’m due for dinner at half past seven.”
“And it’s now half past six,” said Warrender. He tossed down his drink. “Paul, this time I know I’m right. Those newspaper stories haven’t done us any good, and they’re only the beginning. Chatworth told the Press plenty today. He’s managed to make them draw a line between you and Tony Brown’s death, with Bill Brown’s disappearance and last night’s attack on Katie Brown. It was very clever. There are no grounds for a libel action; Abel says there isn’t a thing you can do. He also says you’d be a fool if you tried.”
Raeburn did not speak.
“I don’t know how far West is behind this,” Warrender said, “but I think he’s the main cause of the trouble. He’s certainly responsible for Mark Lessing being down here. There are two men from Scotland Yard here as well. Unless we do something drastic, we’ll let ourselves be driven into a corner.”
Raeburn said, slowly. “It’s your job to keep me out of corners.”
“I can’t unless you help.”
“Can you, anyway? Why didn’t you make sure that I wasn’t at hand when Lessing was attacked?”
“I didn’t arrange that,” Warrender said, sourly. “Tenby told me he was fixing something—and apparently he chose to do it that way. You’re the one who likes Tenby’s little tricks. From the time you let him get away with Brown’s murder, he’s been a menace. He was told to get information out of Katie Brown, not to attempt to murder her. I’ve tried to get in touch with him since, but he’s lying low. I haven’t heard whether the girl did give anything away, or even whether she knows anything.”
Raeburn said: “You ought to know yourself.”
