“You are one of those who must know all about it. The open windows were above them now and, unless the intruder were to lean out, they could not possibly be seen. ‘What is it?’ asked Roding. She had, by the magic of recollection, set the picture of the typhoon between herself and her table companions: the terrible rollers thundering on the white shore, the deafening bellow of the wind, the bending and snapping palms, the thatches of the native huts scattering inland, the blur of sand dust, and those two outcasts defying the elements. To hand the key back in silence was like offering a lie.
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