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"I need a pistol," he said without looking at her. "Surely one of your guttersnipe friends can get me a pistol?"
"I'll have nothing to do with it!"
"You'll do as I tell you!" he said. If only she knew; he had killed two men. He had almost killed a woman. Almost. And the thing was, he would have liked to hurt Daisy, he would have liked to see the expression on her face when the knife went into her throat. "Now get on the telephone," he said to her. "Call that worthless brother of yours. I need a pistol small enough to keep under my coat."
Was she going to cry?
"Do as I tell you," he said. "Now, I'm going to my club to get some of my clothing. If anyone calls here for me, you're to say I'm staying there, do you hear?"
"You're in no condition to go anywhere!"
He struggled out of the chair, and towards the door. The floor was tilting. He steadied himself on the frame. For a long moment he rested his forehead against it. He could not remember a time when he wasn't tired, desperate, angry. He looked back at her.
"If I come back here and you haven't done what I said ..."
"I'll do it," she whimpered. She threw the flowers down and folded her arms and turned her back to him and bowed her head.
Some instinct, upon which he had always relied without question, told him to temper it now. This was the moment to appear gentle, almost affectionate, though the very sight of her bent back infuriated him, though her sobs made him grit his teeth.
"You like this flat well enough, don't you, darling?" he said. "And you like the champagne you're drinking and the furs you're wearing. And you'll like the motor car well enough as soon as I get it. But what I need right now is a little loyalty and time."
He saw her nod. She was turning around to come to him. He went down the hall and out the door.
Henry's trunk had just been taken away.
Julie stood at the window watching the awkward, noisy German motorcar move out of sight down the street. In her heart of hearts, she did not know what to do about Henry.
To call the authorities at this point was unthinkable. Not only was there no explainable witness to what Henry had done, but the thought of wounding Randolph was more than Julie could bear.
Randolph was innocent. She knew it instinctively. And she knew as well that knowledge of Henry's guilt would be the final blow for Randolph. She would lose her uncle as she had lost her father. And though her uncle had never been the man her father was, he was her flesh and blood, and she loved him very much.
Dimly, she remembered Henry's words to her this morning. "We are all you have." She found herself paralysed with hurt, on the verge of tears again.
A footstep on the stairs interrupted her. She turned. And she saw the one person in the world who could sweep away this burden, even for a little while.
She had dressed very carefully for this moment. Telling herself that everything she did was an education for her honoured guest, she had chosen the most exquisite suit she owned; her best black-brimmed hat with silk flowers; and gloves, of course; all this to acquaint him with the fashions of the time.
But she had also wanted to look beautiful for him. And she knew that the burgundy wool flattered her. Her heart was knocking again as she saw him come down the stairs.
In fact, her breath left her altogether as he stepped into the front hall and looked down at her, coming perilously close to her as if he meant to kiss her.
She did not step back.
He had done well with her father's wardrobe. Dark socks and shoes perfect. Shirt buttoned properly. Silk tie knotted rather eccentrically but quite beautiful. Even the cuff links were properly done. In fact, he was disturbingly handsome in the silk waistcoat, sleek black frock coat and gray wool flannel trousers he wore. Only the cashmere scarf was all wrong. He had tied it as a sash about his waist as an old-fashioned soldier might have done.
"May I?" she asked as she removed it, and then slipped it over his head and around his neck, inside the coat. She smoothed it carefully, trying not to be overpowered by him, by his blue eyes looking down at her intently, and that strange philosophical smile.
Now came the big adventure. They were going out together. She was going to show Ramses the Great the twentieth century. This was the most exciting moment she had ever known.
He caught her hand as she opened the door. He drew her to him swiftly. Again, it was as if he were going to kiss her, and her excitement turned suddenly to fear.
He felt it; he stopped, holding her hand a little more loosely, a little more gently. And then he bent and kissed it reverently. And gave her a very mischievous little smile.
How in God's name was she going to resist him!
"Come, let's go. The world waits!" she said. There was a hansom coming along right now. She waved quickly, and then gave him a little tug.
He had stopped. He was looking up and down the broad expanse of street at all the many houses with their iron railings and massive doors, and lace curtains; and the chimney pots smoking above.
