Virginia laid down her magazine for a moment, and with half-closed eyes tried to think.  Within the next room, only a few yards away, and nearer to the door leading into the flat than she herself was, was hiding the person who for two thousand five hundred pounds was proposing to rid the world of Norris Vine.  What would happen if she sat still?  If Norris Vine should come in, and it was almost the time at which he was expected, his assailant would probably be waiting behind the door.  She had no doubt but that the attack would be swift and sudden, and that once made some means would be taken to keep her a prisoner in the room where she now was, or perhaps there might be even worse things in store for her.  In any case, within a few yards of her a man lay in hiding with murder in his heart, and between them the closed door which might at any moment be opened.  What chance would she have to warn Norris Vine?  None at all!

She rose to her feet and sat down again.  The very thought of moving nearer to the room where this man was waiting filled her with horror, and yet it was surely as dangerous to remain where she was, too far away to warn any one entering, and herself at the mercy of the conqueror in the brief struggle.  Her breath began to come more quickly as she realized that she was trapped.  Probably that man in the next room knew all about her, knew just why she was there, and had made up his mind how to deal with her.  She found herself listening in ever-deepening horror for that turn of the handle which should signal the coming of the man for whom they both waited.  Intervention of any sort would be welcome.  An intervention came, in a manner as commonplace as it was startling.  The bell of a telephone instrument on the top of the desk began to ring.  A moment’s breathless indecision, and then she walked to the instrument and took the receiver in her hand.  Simultaneously she heard a stealthy movement outside.  Her fellow-watcher, whoever he might be, had also made up his mind to know who was ringing up Norris Vine so late.

“Who’s that?” the voice asked abruptly.

“Coniston Mansions, No. 57,” Virginia answered, disguising her voice as much as possible.

“Yes! but who is it in my rooms?  That isn’t Janion’s voice, is it?”

Then Virginia knew that the person who spoke was Norris Vine himself, and before every word she uttered she hesitated, thinking always of the listener outside.

“No, it’s not Janion,” she answered.  “What do you want?”

“I wanted to know whether my servant was there,” the voice replied.  “Who are you, and what are you doing in my rooms?”

“Gone into the country?” Virginia said, speaking in a loud tone of surprise.  “You mean that he will not be here to-night, after all?”

The voice down the telephone came angry and perplexed.

“What the devil are you talking about?” it asked.  “I am Norris Vine, and I am speaking into my own rooms.  I want to know who you are, and what are you doing there.”