It might have implied, for example, that Victor's half-hearted and
paltering distrust of Nogam had all along been only too well warranted. In
which case, the fat was already in the fire with a vengeance, and Victor's
probable duration of life was dependent wholly upon the speed with which he
could quit Frampton Court and hurl his motor-car through the night to the
lower reaches of the Thames.
Envisagement of the worst at its blackest being part of the holy duty of
self-preservation, Victor sat fully dressed, with every other provision
made for flight at the first flash of warning, only waiting to make sure,
and with what impatience was apparent in the working of paste-coloured
features, the wincing and shifting of slotted eyes, the incessant shutting
and unclosing of tensed fingers.
All rested with the telephone that stood mockingly mute at the man's elbow,
callous alike to his anxiety and the rancorous regard in which he held it.
His call for the house near Queen Anne's Gate had now been in for more than
forty minutes; in that interval he had no less than three times pleaded its
urgency to the trunk-line operator. And still the muffled bell beneath the
desk was dumb.
And the worst of it was, fatal though the delay might prove, he dared not
stir a hand to save himself until he _knew_....
In the taut torment of those long-drawn minutes a sound of circumspect
scratching was enough to bring Victor to his feet in one startled bound.
He stood for a moment, a-twitch, but intent upon the corridor door, then
composed himself with indifferent success, approached and opened the door.
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