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"I see some dim shapes lying on the floor in there, but I can't tell exactly what they are," said Paul. "Come into this place itself." Paul stepped into the crypt, and Hart with the tip of his moccasined toe gently moved one of the recumbent forms. Paul could not repress a little cry as he jumped back. He was looking at the dark, withered face of an Indian, that seemed to him a thousand years old.
Miserable food, ill-timed and greedily eaten, had played havoc with bone and muscle. They were all pale, flabby, sunken-eyed, hollow-chested, with eyes that glinted and shone and lips that were a sickly red by contrast. Their hair was but half attended to, their ears anemic in hue, and their shoes broken in leather and run down at heel and toe.
"No, no, they were not that," she breathed tensely, and her fingers clung more fiercely to his arm. "They were not shadows. They were men!" In the moment of stillness between them, when their hearts seemed to have stopped beating that they might not lose the faintest whispering of the twilight, a sound came to Alan, and he knew it was the toe of a boot striking against stone.
"But you see, Betty, I am so conscious of the mistakes of my own life that I wish to help you to avoid them. It is a terrible thing to become dependent upon other people, especially if they are busy people," she added plaintively. "Oh, I ought to have managed everything better," responded Betty, looking at the ends of two fingers that had poked directly through a stocking toe.
"I like them better in shop windows than I do at home. But to hang up your stocking and then find it all stuffed and knobby in the morning, with always something perfectly delightful in the toe for the very last! Oh, I love it!" "I wish I were a cousin of yours, so I could look after that toe present myself," said Richard daringly.
Lupin's motor-car was not only an office, a writing-room furnished with books, stationery, pens and ink, but also a regular actor's dressing-room, containing a complete make-up box, a trunk filled with every variety of wearing-apparel, another crammed with "properties" umbrellas, walking-sticks, scarves, eye-glasses and so on in short, a complete set of paraphernalia which enabled him to alter his appearance from top to toe in the course of a drive.
Probably, then, the man on the sorrel horse had picked it up. But who was the man on the sorrel horse, and where had he gone? Probably the coat worked loose in crossing Toe River and the pocket-book had gone down-stream. The number of probabilities was infinite, and each more plausible than the others as it occurred to us.
The man, as he appeared pretty clearly in the starlight, was small, chubby-cheeked, young, sedate, and dressed in a scarlet livery, exposed from top to toe through the opening of a long gray cloak, then called a capenoche, a Spanish word contracted; in French it was cape-de-nuit.
"Look you, my good fellows, and you too, my poor dumb Clopin, pretty monsieur here will have the letter and the pearl in two days' time. Look to it that he never leaves this house at any minute from this time forth that you do not search him from top to toe.
On the top shelf, however, was a volume of Keats wedged between a number of the Evangelical Rambler and Young's Night Thoughts, and standing on tip- toe, I sought to draw it from its place.
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