48 <6> THE FRIDAY NIGHT SHOW The air was chill and the sky overcast and misting. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. " "Wrong? What the devil could be wrong?" McClintock had demanded, irascibly. The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. Wood, in a taunting tone. ‘Ah, yes? To what do I pretend?’ ‘That,’ Gerald said regretfully, ‘I have not yet been able to fathom. They are horrible. At last the panel swung back into the library.
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