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Updated: May 31, 2025
There was a general craning of necks, a shifting of feet, a rustle of whispers. "Ah!" mockingly exclaimed Courteau. "I was dreaming, eh? To be sure!" He laughed disagreeably. "Is this 'house' money?" inquired the redcoat. Miller shook his head in some bewilderment. "We don't keep two kitties. I'll weigh it and see if it adds up with the Count's " "Oh, it will add up!"
Yes, Courteau was gone; there was no reason now why she could not look any man honestly in the eye. Of course, there was the same disparity in years between her and Pierce which she had recognized from the beginning, but, after all, was that necessarily fatal? He had loved her genuinely enough at one time.
Men had been known to play out unexpectedly. After all, there was a possibility of pulling them down, and as long as there was that possibility the Mounted Policeman refused to quit. Rock assured himself that this flight had established one thing, at least, and that was Pierce Phillips' innocence of the Courteau killing. The murderers were here; there could be no doubt of it.
I brought her across." "What is her name?" Phillips hesitated. "The Countess Courteau," said he. There was a murmur of interest; the members of the committee conferred with one an other. "Do you mean to tell us that you've got a titled witness?" the self-appointed spokesman inquired.
"Anger me no more." Hilda's face was colorless, her eyes were still glowing with that peculiar light of defiance, of desperation, of curiosity; nevertheless, she turned away and began to dress herself. Courteau was not disappointed. His appearance in the river-front resorts, accompanied by his wife, created a sensation indeed.
"Joe McCaskey or Frank," Rouletta answered with positiveness. 'Poleon started. Through the gloom he stared incredulously at the speaker. "I'm sure of it, now that I've had time to think," the girl declared. "That's why I ran for you. Now listen! I promised not to tell this, but I must. Courteau confessed to his wife that he and the McCaskeys trumped up that charge against Pierce.
With a short nod and with what pretense of carelessness he could assume he moved on toward the rear of the building, whence came the sounds of music and the voice of a dance-hall caller. For some time he looked on blindly at the whirling figures. Joe McCaskey here! And Count Courteau! What an astonishing coincidence!
It was Jim McCaskey speaking. He had edged his way forward and was scowling darkly at the woman. "What's the idea, anyhow? Are you stuck on this kid?" The Countess Courteau eyed her interrogator coolly, her cheeks maintained their even coloring, her eyes were as icy blue as ever. It was plain that she was in no wise embarrassed by his insinuation.
He was surprised to feel her fingers tighten briefly before her hand was withdrawn. The Countess Courteau was not offended. Had it not been for that pressure upon his shoulder Phillips would have believed that his words had gone unheard, for she entirely ignored them. "Night! Wind! Storm!" she said, in a queer, meditative tone. "They stir the blood, don't they? Not yours, perhaps, but mine.
You do care, don't you, dear? You do love me?" The face Phillips turned upon the Countess Courteau was earnest, worried. Her fingers tightened over his hand. When she spoke there was a certain listlessness, a certain fatigue in her tone. "Do you need to ask that after what happened just now? Of course I care. I care altogether too much. That's the whole trouble.
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