You have cared a long time?"
"Since the beginning."
"Oh!" she cried.
"Why didn't you tell me?
Then? When I could have come to you!
Why tell me now when it's too late.
No, I'm mad - I don't know what I'm saying.
I could never have come to you."
"Claire, what did you mean when you said 'now that it's too late'?
Is it - is it because of my uncle?
What he knows?"She nodded, the tears running down her face."Listen, Claire, you're not to believe all that. You're not to think about it.
Instead, you will come away with me.
I will look after you - keep you safe always."His arms went round her.
He drew her to him, felt her tremble at his touch.
Then suddenly she wrenched herself free."Oh, no, please.
Can't you see? I couldn't now.
It would be ugly - ugly - ugly.
All along I've wanted to be good - and now - it would be ugly as well."He hesitated, baffled by her words.
She looked at him appealingly."Please," she said. "I want to be good..."Without a word, Dermot got up and left her.
For the moment he was touched and racked by her words beyond argument He went for his hat and coat, running into Trent as he did so."Hallo, Dermot, you're off early."
"Yes, I'm not in the mood for dancing tonight"
"It's a rotten night," said Trent gloomily. "But you haven't got my worries."Dermot had a sudden panic that Trent might be going to confide in him.
Not that - anything but that!"Well, so long," he said hurriedly. "I'm off home."
"Home, eh?
What about the warning of the spirits?"
"I'll risk that.
Good night, Jack."Dermot's flat was not far away.
He walked there, feeling the need of the cool night air to calm his fevered brain.
He let himself in with his key and switched on the light in the bedroom.
And all at once, for the second time that night, the feeling of the Red Signal surged over him.
So overpowering was it that for the moment it swept even Claire from his mind.
Danger!
He was in danger.
At this very moment, in this very room!He tried in vain to ridicule himself free of the fear.
Perhaps his efforts were secretly halfhearted. So far, the Red Signal had given him timely warning which had enabled him to avoid disaster.
Smiling a little at his own superstition, he made a careful tour of the flat.
It was possible that some malefactor had got in and was lying concealed there.
But his search revealed nothing.
His man, Milson, was away, and the flat was absolutely empty.
He returned to his bedroom and undressed slowly, frowning to himself.
The sense of danger was acute as ever.
He went to a drawer to get out a handkerchief, and suddenly stood stock still.
There was an unfamiliar lump in the middle of the drawer.
His quick nervous fingers tore aside the handkerchiefs and took out the object concealed beneath them.
It was a revolver.
With the utmost astonishment Dermot examined it keenly.
It was of a somewhat unfamiliar pattern, and one shot had been fired from it lately.
Beyond that he could make nothing of it Someone had placed it in that drawer that very evening.
It had not been there when he dressed for dinner - he was sure of that.
He was about to replace it in the drawer, when he was startled by a bell ringing.