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He said 'twould do him good, but the man's really scared, lieutenant. Thought I'd better stay near him a bit." Across the black and desolate ruin of Blakely's quarters, and well out on the northward mesa, they could dimly discern the form of the unhappy sentry pacing uneasily along his lonely beat, pausing and turning every moment as though fearful of crouching assailant.
It was Elise who kept up this discreditable and mysterious commerce with Downs, something that had culminated in the burning of Blakely's home, with who knows what evidence, something that had terminated only with Downs's mad desertion and probable death.
But even as they fled to higher ground there was order and method in their retreat. While several of their number clambered up the steep, an equal number lurked in their covert, and Blakely's single shot was answered instantly by half a dozen, the bullets striking and splashing on the rocks, the arrows bounding or glancing furiously. Stern ducked within, out of the storm.
Last, but not least, Plume had picked up near the door in Blakely's room the circular, nearly flat, leather-covered case which had dropped, apparently, from Natzie's gown, and, as it had neither lock nor latch, Plume had opened it to examine its contents.
Sentry No. 4 had heard and told of a feminine voice, "somebody cryin' like" in the darkness of midnight about Blakely's, and Norah Shaughnessy returned to her duties at the Trumans', yet worrying over the critical condition of her trooper lover, and losing thereby much needed sleep had gained some new and startling information.
Except that some of the "Choicest Flowers" of San Francisco society were fearfully and fashionably late, nothing occurred to disturb the social atmosphere. And when, on entering the dining room, I saw how the guests were placed, I could have hugged Blakely's mother. For where do you suppose she had put Dad? On her left!
"Why?" asked Plume, mystified. "I'm not saying, until Blakely talks for himself. For one reason I don't know. For another, he's the man to tell, if anybody," and a toss of the head toward the dark doorway told who was meant by "he." "D'you mean you'd have this girl squatting there by Blakely's bedside the rest of the night?" asked the commander, ruffled in spirit.
I'm as fond of Blakely as if he were my own son, and you'll feel the same about Elizabeth when you've known her longer." "Don't let Dad keep you, Mrs. Porter," I said. "I'm sure you have many things to attend to." Blakely's mother who had been standing like one in a dream, now woke up. "Yes," she said, "I must be going.
At Blakely's door Clarice had "lost her nerve" and insisted on returning, but not so Elise. She went again, and had well-nigh gotten Downs drunk enough to do as she demanded. Frankly, sadly, Plume went to Blakely, told him of his wife's admissions, and asked him what papers of hers he retained.
There was a moment of almost breathless silence, broken only by a faint moan from Wren's tortured lips and the childish whimpering of that other the half-crazed, terror-stricken soldier. "Elise," came the whisper, barely audible, as Carmody strove to lift his head, "she promised" but the head sank back on Blakely's knee.
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