Red Shadow by Patricia Wentworth

piece of paper—and it must be found. She has been alone an hour—two hours. She would not destroy it, but she might try to hide it. Can she walk? Can she get out of bed?”
    Catherine shook her head.
    â€œShe is as weak as a baby. When I lift her up her head swims and she is ready to faint.”
    Vassili Stefanoff made a gesture of relief.
    â€œThen it cannot be far away. I will go up and see her.”
    Upstairs Laura lay motionless. The dusk had turned into darkness; she could just see the shape of the window and distinguish the sky from the black wall of her room. The room was very still and very cold. She herself was very cold. She had straightened her night-gown and the bed-clothes. She still wore the embroidered shawl wrapped close about her. She was so tired that she felt as if she were falling down and down and down. Everything that had been happening seemed remote.
    When the door opened and the light flashed on, she was shocked back to consciousness. With startled eyes she saw Catherine come round the screen and stand looking at her.
    â€œWell, I have neglected you—but I thought that you would sleep. Have you had a nice rest?”
    She did not wait for an answer, but went to the window to draw the curtains across it. Then, turning, she exclaimed,
    â€œYour fire is out! No wonder the room is like ice. Are you cold?”
    Laura said “Yes” in a faint voice.
    At once her hands were felt and exclaimed over.
    â€œThey are like stones! I will get you a hot-water bottle and some tea. Now wait whilst I pull your pillows up a little. And I had better comb your hair. I wish mine would curl of itself like yours. Has anyone ever told you that you have hair like a black mist? It is not fair really, because you would be quite good looking enough without it. There! Now I will tell you that you have another visitor. What will you do, I wonder? Blush, or turn faint? It is Vassili, so you should do one or the other.”
    Laura did neither. She leaned her head against the freshly piled pillows and set her face in a pale composure.
    Catherine laughed, patted her shoulder, and went out swinging the hot-water bottle; and at once Basil Stevens came round the screen.
    He was Basil again, not Vassili—a quiet, rather formal person, more like a doctor or a solicitor in his manner than an engineer. He stood at the foot of the bed and said,
    â€œGood afternoon, Laura. I hope you are better.”
    Laura had thought that she could control herself. She had not known that his presence would instantly bring back all that her illness had blotted out. At the first sound of his voice an agony of loss and longing swept over her. She clenched her hands under the folds of the shawl, and was silent from a sheer inability to speak.
    â€œYou are better?” said Basil Stevens.
    This time Laura managed a weak “Yes.” Looking at her, he wondered if it was true.
    He left the foot of the bed and took the chair beside her.
    â€œI understand that you were well enough to see Mr Rimington this afternoon.”
    Again Laura said, “Yes,”
    He went on speaking in a cold business-like manner.
    â€œI am sorry that I was not here. Alec tells me that you are far from fit to attend to business—indeed I can see that for myself. I should be glad to save you as much as possible.”
    Laura said nothing. Her hidden hands clung together. Her black hair was like a cloud against the pillow. Her black lashes hid her eyes and made her cheeks look even whiter than they were. He had a sudden fear lest she might die and rob him.
    He said “ Laura —” with the impatience of alarm, and the lashes rose a little. “I don’t want to trouble you, but I think I ought to know why Mr Rimington came down.”
    â€œTo—see—me.”
    â€œNaturally. But I want to know what passed between you. If he left any papers, I must ask you to show them to me.” He smiled slightly. “I