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He gazed at Steingall with bold curiosity. He had a foot on the companion ladder when he heard a sudden commotion on the wharf. Turning, he saw Fowle, livid with terror, writhing in Carshaw's grasp. Then Voles stood still. The shades of night were drawing in, but he had seen enough to give him pause. Perhaps, too, other less palpable shadows darkened his soul at that moment.
A note was sent to Rachel by special messenger, and she, in turn, sought Fowle, whose mean face showed a blotchy red when he learned that Winifred could be traced by watching Carshaw. "I'll get her now, ma'am," he chuckled. "It'll be dead easy. I can make up as a parson. Did that once before when well, just to fool a bunch of people. No one suspects a parson see? I'll get her sure!"
The Huguenot Ribault, making report of this region years and years before, called it "a fayre coast stretching of a great length, covered with an infinite number of high and fayre trees," and he described the land as the "fairest, fruitfullest, and pleasantest of all the world, abounding in hony, venison, wilde fowle, forests, woods of all sorts, Palm-trees, Cypresse and Cedars, Bayes ye highest and greatest; with also the fayrest vines in all the world.... And the sight of the faire medows is a pleasure not able to be expressed with tongue; full of Hernes, Curlues, Bitters, Mallards, Egrepths, Woodcocks, and all other kind of small birds; with Harts, Hindes, Buckes, wilde Swine, and all other kindes of wilde beastes, as we perceived well, both by their footing there and... their crie and roaring in the night."* This is the country of the liveoak and the magnolia, the gray, swinging moss and the yellow jessamine, the chameleon and the mockingbird.
Explain your fall from grace." "There's nothing to it," growled Fowle. "I know the girl, an' asked her to come with me this evening. She'd been fired by the firm, an' " "Ah! Who fired her?" Clancy's inquiry sounded most matter-of-fact. "The boss, of course." "Why?" "Well this newspaper stuff. He didn't like it." "He told you so?" "Yes. That is the department is a bit crowded.
Of watrish taste, the flesh not firme, like English beefe, And yet it seru's them very well, and is a good releefe: Their sheep are very small, sharpe singled, handfull long; Great store of fowle on sea and land, the moorish reedes among. The greatnes of the store doeth make the prices lesse, Besides in all the land they know not how good meate to dresse.
Trusting more to Rachel than to vacillating Fowle, he raced up-stairs, though his injured leg made rapid progress difficult. He ran into a room and grabbed a small bag which lay in readiness. Then he rushed toward the room in which Winifred and Mick the Wolf were listening with mixed feelings to the row which had sprung up beneath. He tried the door. It was locked.
"Think you're taking an easier road to the white lights, I guess?" "Guess again, Fowle," said Carshaw. He spoke so quietly that Fowle was misled, because the pavement rose and struck him violently on the back of his head. At least, that was his first impression. The second and more lasting one was even more disagreeable.
Craik was your mother's name. If friend Voles had only kept his hands clean, or even treated you honorably, you might now be Mrs. Ralph Meiklejohn, eh?" He was playing with her with the affable gambols of a cat toying with a doomed mouse. Each instant Fowle was becoming more perturbed. He did not like the way in which the detective ignored him. Was he to be swallowed at a gulp when his turn came?
Fowle, hiding among the evergreens, had run with nimble feet and sardonic smile to bolt the gate as soon as she was out of sight. And now Winifred was at the front door, timidly pulling a bell. A man strolled with a marked limp around the house from a conservatory. He was a tall, strongly built person, and something in the dimly seen outline sent a thrill of apprehension through her.
Some glimmer of reason warned him that an exposé in the newspapers would cost him his job with Brown, Son & Brown. The policeman eyed the damaged nose. He grinned. "If you care to take a wallop like that as a friendly tap it's your affair, not mine," he said. "Anyhow, beat it, both of you!" Carshaw was not interested in Fowle or the policeman.
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