Don’t say anything, she thought to herself, say nothing more, Martin. A moment more and he would have been crushed beneath the ponderous board, when a slight but strong arm arrested its descent. Could she understand what she was talking about? Luckily it was a second-class carriage and the ordinary fellowtravellers were not there. Spurlock's movements and report progress. With a cry of distress, she dropped the pistol and flew after him, racing past him to the door. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure.
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