Even at that moment Nella wondered that
a woman like Miss Spencer could be so simple as to think the
revolver would actually be used. Having absolutely no physical
cowardice herself, Nella had the greatest difficulty in imagining
that other people could be at the mercy of a bodily fear. Still, she
saw her advantage, and used it relentlessly, and with as much
theatrical gesture as she could command. She raised the revolver
till it was level with Miss Spencer's face, and suddenly a new,
queer feeling took hold of her. She knew that she would indeed
use that revolver now, if the miserable woman before her drove
her too far. She felt afraid - afraid of herself; she was in the grasp
of a savage, primeval instinct. In a flash she saw Miss Spencer
dead at her feet - the police - a court of justice - the scaffold. It was
horrible.
'Speak,' she said hoarsely, and Miss Spencer's face went whiter.
'Tom did say,' the woman whispered rapidly, awesomely, 'that if
Prince Eugen got to London it would upset his scheme.'
'What scheme? What scheme? Answer me.'
'Heaven help me, I don't know.' Miss Spencer sank into a chair. 'He
said Mr Dimmock had turned tail, and he should have to settle him
and then Rocco - '
'Rocco! What about Rocco?' Nella could scarcely hear herself. Her
grip of the revolver tightened.
Miss Spencer's eyes opened wider; she gazed at Nella with a glassy
stare.
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