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He realised too, for the first time, that he could not hope for another word alone with Cecilia. McVay must always be present. It was a hideous sort of revenge that every waking minute must be spent in the man's company. Geoffrey had not appreciated the full meaning of his instructions to McVay to keep always in sight. Not a word or a look could be exchanged without McVay's seeing and rejoicing.
With which he opened the door and they returned to the library. Cecilia was not in the library, and McVay, without comment on her absence, turned at once to his book. "If you won't think me impolite, Holland, I'll go on with my Sterne.
That's very sudden," said Cecilia. "At a word from you, dear, I'll give it up," remarked McVay. "No, no, of course not. I should never forgive myself. You must go. Perhaps it is all the better that I did not know beforehand. It saves me just that amount." "We've no time to lose," remarked McVay briskly, "if we are going to try for that afternoon train.
"Then," said she calmly, "if you knew you were better fitted I can't see why you did not go." "You are not quite fair to your brother," said Geoffrey interrupting, for McVay looked as if he would explode in another moment under the sense of injustice. "He did propose going himself, but I would not let him; I I made it a personal matter." "Very personal," replied McVay with feeling.
"'Accomplices!" exclaimed McVay; and for the first time a shade of anger crossed his brow; "'accomplices'! I have no accomplices. Anything I do I think I am able to do alone. Still," he added putting aside his annoyance, "if you feel nervous about leaving me I'd just as lief give you my word of honour to stay here until you come back." "Your what?"
Then he added: "Why should I tell her what she must know." "I tell you she knows nothing about my profession." "Your profession!" "Hasn't a notion of it." "What, with my sister's coat on her back, and the Innes' bag in her hand"?" "No!" McVay drew a step nearer. "You see I told her that I had found a second-hand store where I could get things for nothing."
Geoffrey stared, and then exclaimed spontaneously: "You used to be able to wag your ears." "Can still." "Why, you are Skinny McVay." The man nodded. Neither was without a sense of humour, and yet saw nothing comic in these untender reminiscences. "I remember the masters all hated you," said Geoffrey, "but you were straight enough then, weren't you?" Again the man nodded.
Indeed, there seemed a fair chance that he might think this even if nothing worse happened than that the hut proved empty, for he would have had a long walk for nothing better than to provide McVay with an opportunity to escape.
There is nothing very unusual about Mary, is there, Holland? No, the name I was trying to think of was Ethelberta. Now you remember, don't you?" "No, I don't," said the detective crossly, casting an appealing look at Geoffrey. "How sad that is," said McVay philosophically. "You don't even remember her name, and at one time well, well."
He found his eyes had read the same page three times, while his brain was busy devising means by which McVay could be secured in his absence if he went. At length he rose suddenly to his feet. "I'll go," he said, "but before I go, I'll tie you up so safely that, if I don't come back, you'll starve to death before you'll be able to get out or make any one hear you.
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