She said as much to him. Swiftly she ran her hands over the carvings, trying to find the lever to the secret panel again. Three times she escaped. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. Spurlock knew that somewhere along the way he would write a story worth while. “Don’t you understand, Nigel,” she said softly, “that it was precisely for this I have worked so hard. Grasping one of chairs about the little table, he drew it forward and sat astride it, in a fashion as insolent as it was unexpected.
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