The snick of a key in the lock did not break through their preoccupation with one another, but the cynical voice of Dusty Britton came as the shock of a bucket of cold water:
“Very pleasant scene,” he drawled. “I hope I’ve interrupted something.”
Scyth and Barbara parted in a whirl.
Scyth felt a sinking sensation in his middle as he realized that the facts were far too clear; that the sensible course was a hasty retreat, but the only path was barred by Dusty Britton.
Barbara took the woman’s course. “Don’t you ever use the doorbell?” she asked icily.
Dusty smiled sourly. “I always have,” he said. “Up to now. But this time I want words with the gentleman in question instead of losing him out through the back door.”
“I think I should explain,” said Scyth uncertainly.
Dusty chuckled. “
