There now remained for Helen the task of awaiting the arrival of Saul Hartz. Four o'clock was the hour that he was due.
The rather tiny drawing room in which she intended to receive him was quite a delight to the eye. It was choice, seductive, trim. Much care and taste had been lavished on the decorations, the hangings, the general scheme. A bright fire burned on a cosy hearth of blue and white Dutch tiles. Everything was a harmony of delicate blues and greens. No room could have been more civilized. It was really fantastic that a creature like herself, one whose mind was humane, creative, essentially modern, essentially sane, should have invited a man to such a room in order to murder him.
That aspect of the case didn't bear thinking about. And with a courage that showed no sign of failing now the crisis was at hand she put it away from her. She went to the safe in the other room to procure the phial. But as she was in the act of unlocking its heavy door, a paralyzing thought flashed along her nerves.
Suppose . . . suppose . . . the phial was not there!
