Frances went to the washing-stand, squeezed out a sponge in cold water and brought it to him. He took it in a dazed fashion and mopped the blood from his nose and mouth.
Arthur stood by, massive and motionless, his face set in iron lines. He was like an executioner, grim as doom, waiting for his victim. He made no comment when Frances brought towel and basin to Rotherby’s side and helped him.
But at length, as Rotherby began to show signs of recovery, he waved her to one side.
“Now, you! Let’s have your version! What are you and Miss Thorold doing here?”
Rotherby looked at him through narrowed lids. His face was very evil as he made reply. “I chance to live here.”
“I know that. And you’ll die here without any chance about it if you don’t choose to give me a straight answer to my questions. What did you bring her here for?”
“What the devil is that to you?” said Rotherby sullenly. “You go to hell!”
Though he was beaten so that he could hardly lift his head, he showed no fear, and for that Frances, who knew something of the temperament of the man who had beaten him, accorded him a certain admiration. To be punished as he had been punished, and yet to refuse submission proved a strength with which she had hardly credited him.
At Arthur’s swift gesture of exasperation, she moved forward, intervening. “Let me speak!” she said. “I will answer your questions.”
She stood between the two men, and again, vesting her with a majesty which was not normally hers, there came to her aid the consciousness of standing for the right. Whatever the outcome, she recognized that the protection of Rotherby must somehow be accomplished. To save the one man from death and the other from committing a murder, she braced herself for the greatest battle of her life.
Arthur’s look came back to her. He regarded her sombrely, as though he recognized in her a factor that must be dealt with.
“You say he brought you here for supper,” he said. “Did he give you no reason for believing that he meant to keep you here all night?”
She faced him steadfastly. The man’s life hung in the balance. It rested with her—it rested with her.
“I was on the point of leaving when you arrived,” she said.
“You honestly believe he meant to let you go?”