She tried for her usual confident tone, but only succeeded in sounding gruff, even to her own ears. But what he could do or might do she could not imagine. “You killed them, didn’t you?” He said. Stonily he had disengaged himself. Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. He was evidently nervous, and very anxious to be impressive; his projecting eyes sought to dominate. “We shall try again later. ‘How do you know?’ ‘Exactly,’ pounced Roding bitterly.
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