Nobody was there.
"They may have gone into your bedroom to listen at that door," she
whispered.
I took the hint, and going quickly into the room adjoining, turned on
the light. Emptiness there: but I left the door open, and the
electricity switched on. They might change their minds, or be more
subtle than they wished to seem.
Maxine threw herself on the sofa, gathering up the necklace from the
cushion where it had fallen, and lifting it in both hands pressed the
glittering mass against her lips and cheeks.
"Thank God, thank God--and thank you, Ivor, best of friends!" she said
brokenly, in so low a voice that no ear could have caught her words,
even if pressed against the keyhole. Then, letting the diamonds drop
into her lap, she flung back her head and laughed and cried together.
"Oh, Ivor, Ivor!" she panted, between her sobs and hysterical gusts of
laughter. "The agony of it--the agony--and the joy now! You're
wonderful. Good, precious Ivor--dear friend--saint."
At this I laughed too, partly to calm her, and patted gently the hands
with which she had nervously clutched my sleeve.
"Heaven knows I don't deserve one of those epithets," I said, "I'll just
stick to friend.
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