THE SIAMESE CAT
Vexed with surmise, he went back to his chair and waited. Borkman, it was plain, had worked methodically. "First he claps me in jail here. What's the next move?" Evidently it would be against the Holborows. In vague and conflicting anxiety, he outwatched the drowsy afternoon.
At last the floor above creaked stealthily. In the upper chamber, voices murmured. Without a sound, Owen climbed on the table, stood upright, listened.
"But he is just below!" expostulated a sprightly voice. The lady from Mauritius had lost her foreign accent. "It will not do."
"Have to," grumbled a surly bass. It was unmistakeably Borkman. "Do you suppose … afford to hire every villa in Singapore? …. must be in here. Where else? … Nonsense … Let him shout, then … no one within quarter of a mile
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