"I thought that if you were writing for the newspapers you might know how
to help her-"

"I'm not a newspaper writer," Verrian answered, with a resentment which
she seemed to feel, for she said, with a sort of apology in her tone:

"Oh! Well, I don't suppose it matters. She doesn't know I'm speaking to
you about that; it just came into my head. I like to help in a worthy
object, you know. I hope you'll have a good night's rest."

She turned and looked round with the air of distraction which she had
after speaking to any one, and which Verrian fancied came as much from a
paucity as from a multiplicity of suggestion in her brain, and so left
him standing. But she came back to say, "Of course, it's all between
ourselves till after to-morrow night, Mr. Verrian."

"Oh, certainly," he replied, and went vaguely off in the direction of the
billiard-room. It was light and warm there, though the place was empty,
and he decided upon a cigar as a proximate or immediate solution. He sat
smoking before the fire till the tobacco's substance had half turned into
a wraith of ash, and not really thinking of anything very definitely,
except the question whether he should be able to sleep after he went to
bed, when he heard a creeping step on the floor. He turned quickly, with
a certain expectance in his nerves, and saw nothing more ghostly than
Bushwick standing at the corner of the table and apparently hesitating
how to speak to him.

He said, "Hello!" and at this Bushwick said:

"Look here!"