THE GENERAL PLAYS TO WIN
A warning finger stopped her.
“There is no use in your trying to persuade me, old girl,” he said, his voice raised to a tone which seemed louder than necessary. “I am only doing my duty as I see it. But whatever happens I can at least remember that you told the truth.”
What did he mean? She couldn’t understand. She followed him with her gaze. The fingers of one hand were tracing the flowers of the wallpaper upon one side of the room, and as she looked he glanced out of the window and then got quickly upon a chair and peered into an aperture in the cornice.
“I am not sorry for Rizzio,” he said again, dusting off the chair and replacing it. “He only gets what he deserved. What did he do to you? How did he find you?”
A glance at his face showed her that he expected her to reply.
“I was lost on the moor,” she faltered. “I followed you to Rudha Mor and saw you leave in the Yellow Dove. When I turned to go back, a cloth was thrown over my head. They chloroformed me”
He muttered an imprecation. “And on the yacht”
“I—I had nothing to complain of. He did everything he could for my comfort.”
She watched him again moving around the room. At the chimney he paused and, reaching swiftly upward, lifted the clock and then put it into its place again, the expression in his face still strained and anxious.
“I am not sorry for him,” he said again. Suddenly he came to her saying in such a low whisper that she could hardly hear him,
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