RIZZIO TAKES CHARGE
knew that her last thrust had put him more carefully on guard, but he could not hide the sudden intake of breath and the quick searching glance his dark eyes shot at her.
“What is your source of information?”
“Jack Sandys. He came here directly from Downing Street.”
She saw Rizzio’s lips meet under his mustache in a thin line.
“So. It has come sooner—than I expected.”
He got up and paced the floor, his fingers twitching behind his back. She said nothing, waiting for him to rejoin her. When he did, it was with a serious expression.
“I suppose you know what this means to—to Hammersley,” he said in a low voice.
Doris sat without moving, but her brain was busy weighing Rizzio.
“No,” she replied calmly, “I don’t. Won’t you tell me?”
He leaned forward toward her along the back of their seat, his look and voice concentrated upon her.
“Is it possible,” he continued, “that you haven’t realized by this time exactly what Cyril Hammersley is?”
“No,” she said staunchly. “I will believe nothing of him unless he tells it to me himself.”
He waited a moment, watching her, and fancied that he saw her lips tremble slightly. Her loyalty to Hammersley inflamed him. He followed up his advantage quickly.
“There are reasons why I should dislike to give you pain, greater reasons why I should be generous with a successful rival, and I have done what I can
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