"Club--playin' bridge," he answered, lighting a cigarette.
He shot a glance at her sideways as he spoke, a glance that was meant to
be crafty. If she had not been excited and horribly jealous, such a
glance would probably have amused her, even made her laugh. Fritz's craft
was very transparent. But she could not laugh now. She knew he was
telling her the first lie that had occurred to him.
"Lucky?" she asked, still preserving her light and casual manner.
"Middlin'," he jerked out.
He sat down in an armchair and slowly stretched his legs, staring up at
the ceiling. Lady Holme began to think rapidly, feverishly.
Had he locked the front door when he came in? Very much depended upon
whether he had or had not. The servants had all gone to bed. Not one of
them would see that the house was closed for the night. Fritz was a very
casual person. He often forgot to do things he had promised to do, things
that ought to be done. On the other hand, there were moments when his
memory was excellent. If she only knew which mood had been his to-night
she thought she would feel calmer. The uncertainty in which she was made
mind and body tingle. If Fritz had remembered to lock the door, Leo
Ulford would try to get in, fail, and go away. But if he had not
remembered, at any moment Leo Ulford might walk into the room
triumphantly with the latch-key in his hand. And it was nearly half-past
twelve.
She wished intensely that she knew what Fritz had done.
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