To The Rescue. Jean Barrett

      “Sybil, please—” her husband murmured pleadingly.

      “Dear heart, it’s true. I don’t know how all of us will manage.”

      If any of the rest of them had any feelings on the subject, none of them bothered to contribute them. There was a long, awkward silence while they concentrated on their plates.

      Sybil Harding, looking around the table, ended the silence after a few moments with an exuberant “I do hope some of you play bridge.”

      Leo could sympathize with her husband. The woman was an embarrassment.

      “Sybil, perhaps—”

      “Roger, hush. If we’re to be stuck here, we must pass the time somehow.” She leaned provocatively toward Leo. “Roger refuses to play, which always leaves me looking for a partner.”

      “I don’t play bridge. Poker is my game.” Leo had had enough. He wanted out of here. Scraping his chair back, his hands on the table to support himself, he got slowly to his feet. “But right now,” he muttered, “I think I need to go back to my room.”

      “You feeling off again, old man?” Just Harry asked him.

      “Yeah, maybe a bit.”

      “Bloody shame.”

      Jennifer looked up at him, this time with concern. “Would you like me to find Brother Timothy?”

      “Not necessary. But if you’d go with me…”

      He left the rest unsaid, knowing she would be convinced that someone should be with him in case he started to black out on the way back to his room.

      She came immediately to her feet. “Of course. Excuse us, everyone.”

      Jennifer waited until they were out of the room before she started to fuss at him. “You pushed yourself too far too soon.”

      “I’m not having a relapse,” he assured her.

      “Well, you need to rest.”

      Leo didn’t argue with her. She waited until they gained the corridor at the top of the stairway before asking him, “Are you feeling light-headed? That climb—”

      “No,” he growled, feeling guilty for worrying her.

      She was silent again until they passed the window embrasure.

      “You’re going too fast,” she complained.

      But Leo was in too much of a hurry to slow his long-legged stride. Nor did he offer an explanation for his urgency until they were back inside his room with the door closed behind them. Then, a grimness in his voice, he swung around to challenge her.

      “All right, we’ve wasted enough time with that bunch downstairs. I want the truth, Jenny, and I don’t want to wait any longer for it. So go ahead and convince me that you didn’t murder my brother before you helped yourself to the Warley Madonna.”