"It's of no use," observed Thames quietly, but with a look that chilled the little damsel's heart;—"my resolution is taken. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. It was as if he could smell it on her. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. She had to make sure, for the peace of her mind, that this was really the man.
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