me, Sheila?’ 

 She looked up swiftly. ‘It’s very tiresome, I can’t find anywhere,’ she murmured, ‘I can’t find anywhere the—the little red box key.’ 

 Lawford’s cheek turned more sallow than ever. ‘You are only pretending to look for it,’ he said, ‘to try me. We both know perfectly well the lock is broken. Ada broke it.’ 

 Sheila let fall the lid; and yet for a while her eyes roved over it as if in violent search for something. Then she turned: ‘I am so very glad the vicar was at home,’ she said brightly. ‘And mind, mind you rest, Arthur. There’s nothing so bad but it might be worse.... Oh, I can’t, I can’t bear it!’ She sat down in the chair and huddled her face between her hands, sobbing on and on, without a tear. 

 Lawford listened and stared solemnly. ‘Whatever it may be, Sheila, I will be loyal,’ he said. 

 Her sobs hushed, and again cold horror crept over her. Nobody in the whole world could have said that ‘I will be loyal’ quite like that—nobody but Arthur. She stood up, patting her hair. ‘I don’t think my brain would bear much more. It’s useless to talk. If you will go up; I will put out the lamp.’ 

 

 CHAPTER FOUR

 One solitary and tall candle burned on the great dressing-table. Faint, solitary pictures broke the blankness of each wall. The carpet was rich, the bed impressive, and the basins on the washstand as uninviting as the bed. Lawford sat down on the edge of it in complete isolation. He sat without stirring, listening to his watch ticking in his pocket. The china clock on the chimney piece pointed cheerfully to the hour of dawn. It was exactly, he computed carefully, five hours and seven minutes fast. Not the slightest sound broke the stillness, until he heard, very, very softly and gradually, the key of his door turn in the oiled wards, and realized that he was a prisoner. 

 Women were strange creatures. How often he had heard that said, he thought lamely. He felt no anger, no surprise or resentment, at the trick. It was only to be expected. He could sit on till morning; easily till morning. He had never noticed before how empty a well-furnished room could seem. It was his own room too; his best visitors’ room. His father-in-law had slept here, with his whiskers on that pillow. His wife’s most formidable aunt had been all night here, alone with these pictures. She certainly was... ‘But what are you doing here?’ cried a 

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