“Bob!” she Exclaimed.

“I’m going out,” he said harshly. “Won’t be long.”

Her good intentions failed her, and she hurried out into the hall.

“Bob, you must tell me——”

“We’re not going into that again,” he growled.

She hated the way he looked at her, and yet she knew he saw something else, not her face, but the thing which frightened him.

She felt suddenly cool, calm and decided.

“Yes, we are going into that again,” she insisted. “If you leave without telling me what that man said, what’s worrying you so much, I’m going to take things into my own hands.”

He fiddled with the brim of his hat.

“Well, what are you going to do about it?” he demanded. She knew that he could hardly speak civilly; he began to tremble, as if another bout of malaria were coming on, but it was only the tension.

“I’m going to the police,” she declared. “I’m going to tell them that you——”

He flung his hat aside and crossed the hall, and she hardly noticed his limp. He clutched her wrists; his fingers were long and powerful and he hurt her. His eyes blazed, as they always did when he flew into a temper. He pulled her to him, and their faces were very close together.

“Don’t say that again,” he rasped. “Don’t you dare go to the police. Understand me?”

She didn’t try to get away, but spoke quietly, keeping unnaturally calm.

“If you leave without telling me what’s worrying you, I shall go to the police and tell them that since you’ve been back in England you’ve been—terrified. I shall tell them about the man on the telephone, and I shall say that I’m afraid you’ll do something desperate if you don’t get help.”

His grip was so tight that the pain almost made her cry out, but she clenched her teeth and returned his furious gaze. The little vein in his neck beat furiously, his lips were compressed into a thin line, his nostrils distended.