She still had her letter of credit. For so far she had kept it uncashed. In truth, she had been quite glad to lose the argument about remaining while the bullet was dug out of Jack’s side. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. Ennison too, always handsome and debonnair, seemed transported out of his calm self. She was no longer a confederate in that. ‘But on the off chance—slim, I grant you —that there is a spy down there, I don’t want to miss the fun. The problem had returned, made gigantic by the possibility of Ruth's love.
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