United States or North Korea ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
It was impossible not to see it, forty-eight inches long and quarter-inch-wide buckskin. He began seeking for its mate, and found it on the floor where Marette Radisson had been standing. And again the unanswerable question pounded in Kent's brain why had Kedsty's murderer used a tress of hair instead of a buckskin lace or one of the curtain cords hanging conspicuously at the windows?
"Jeems when we are safe when we are sure the Police won't find us I will tell you all that I know about what happened in Kedsty's room. And I will tell you about the hair. I will tell you everything." Her fingers tightened almost fiercely. "Everything," she repeated. "I will tell you about that in Kedsty's room and I will tell you about myself and after that I am afraid you won't like me."
In the seconds that followed that discovery Kent could not have moved if his own life had paid the penalty of inaction. For the story was told there about Kedsty's throat and on his chest. The tress of hair was long and soft and shining and black. It was twisted twice around Kedsty's neck, and the loose end rippled down over his shoulder, glowing like a bit of rich sable in the lamplight.
Never had he seen Kedsty's face more like the face of an emotionless sphinx. But what disturbed him most was the presence of people he had not expected. Close behind Kedsty was McDougal, the magistrate, and behind McDougal entered Constables Felly and Brant, stiffly erect and clearly under orders. Cardigan, pale and uneasy, came in last, with the stenographer.
One of her fingers had gripped itself convulsively about his thumb, like a child afraid of falling. And each time the thunder crashed that soft hold on his thumb tightened, and Kent's soul acclaimed. They drew swiftly nearer to the light, for it was not far from the knoll to Kedsty's place. Kent's mind leaped ahead.
"And his Chinaman cook and housekeeper is away." "And the bungalow is closed, or supposed to be." "Except at night, when Kedsty goes there to sleep." O'Connor's hand gripped Kent's. "Jimmy, there never was a team in N Division that could beat us, The girl is hiding at Kedsty's place!" "But why HIDING?" insisted Kent. "She hasn't committed a crime." O'Connor sat silent for a moment.
Why should they waste time under Kedsty's roof when freedom lay out there for the taking? He watched the swift movements of her hand, listened to the silken rustle of the brush as it smoothed out her long hair. Bewilderment, reason, desire for action fought inside him. Suddenly she faced him again. "It has just this moment occurred to me," she said, "that you haven't said 'Thank you."
By traveling in that timber it was possible for her to reach Kedsty's bungalow without being seen. It must have been difficult going, with shoes half as big as my hand and heels two inches high! And I've been wondering, why didn't she wear bush-country shoes or moccasins?" "Because she came from the South and not the North," suggested Kent. "Probably up from Edmonton." "Exactly.
He was almost physically insensible to all emotions but that one of shock and horror. He was staring at Kedsty's gray-white, twisted face when he heard Marette's door close. A cry came from his lips, but he did not hear it was unconscious that he had made a sound. His body shook with a sudden tremor. He could not disbelieve, for the evidence was there.
O'Connor's answer was a sob, a sob that rose in his throat like a great fist, and choked him, and filled his eyes with scalding tears that shut out the glow of moon and stars. And he did not go toward Kedsty's, but trudged heavily in the direction of the river, for he knew that Kent had called his lie, and that they had said their last farewell.
Word Of The Day