Westervelt noted with a certain detachment that her voice had turned shrill. Not knowing of anything else to do, he stared as she tugged her dress into place. This seemed to outrage her more than anything he could have said. He also saw the gleam of Parrish's teeth, and the grimace was not even remotely a smile. The man took a step to place himself before Beryl. "What do you think you're doing?" demanded Parrish, with a good deal more feeling than originality. Westervelt had been wondering what to say to that when it came, as was inevitable. A dozen half-expressed answers flitted through his mind. _How do you get out of a thing like this?_ he asked himself desperately. _You'd think it was me that did it!_ Before he could explore the implications of his choosing the words "did it," Beryl found her voice again. "Get out of here!" she shrilled. "Who told you to come poking in?" "I heard a noise," said Westervelt, conscious that his voice sounded odd. "I thought it was Mr. Lydman." "Do I look like Lydman?" demanded Parrish, not raising his voice as much as Beryl had. "There wasn't any light, was there? Did you think he'd be sitting in here in the dark?" The possibility charged the atmosphere like static electricity. Actually, mere mention of it made Westervelt feel better because it sounded so much like what he might have found. "How did I know?" he retorted. "I thought Beryl was with him. Why should I expect _you_? You said you weren't going to dig any further in here." Beryl had been smoothing her still-perfect coiffure. Now she stiffened as much as Parrish. Westervelt sensed that his choice of words might have been unfortunate. "Well, who is with him?" he demanded, before they could say anything. The question galvanized Parrish into action. He stepped forward to meet Westervelt face to face. "If you're so worried about that, why don't you go find him?" he sneered. "For my money, you two make a good match." "Maybe I will," said Westervelt hotly. "_You_ two don't seem to care about what's going on. If you'll just excuse me, I'll turn out the light and--" "Oh, cut out the speech-making!" requested Beryl. "Get out of the door, Willie, and let me out of here. I'm tired of the whole incident." "Now, wait a minute, Beryl!" protested Parrish. "Yeah," said Westervelt, "you'd better check. Your lipstick is really smudged this time." "Shut up, you!" Parrish snapped. He took Beryl by the shoulders and pulled her back. She pulled herself free peevishly. Westervelt leaned against the wall and curled a lip. "Enough is enough!" she said. "Let me out of here!" "You forgot to smile," Westervelt told Parrish. The man turned on him and reached out to seize a handful of his shirtfront. Westervelt straightened up, alarmed but willing to consider changing the smooth mask of Parrish's face. Beryl was shrilling something about not being damned fools, when she stopped in the middle of a word.